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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. xu. 

Xotfton : 




C^f\r%Ci\i^ Original from 




P. G. Wodehouse. 


Paul Edwards, 


G. N. Collins. 


Austin Philips. 


Frederic Lees. 



Walter Emanuel. 


Seton Valentine. 


W. W.Jacobs. 


N. Guy H. Scull. 


George S. Guy. 


... W. Dalton. 


... Barry Pain. 


. . . Frank Savile. 


G. A. Rossetti. 





Illustrations by Joseph Simpson, R.H.A. 


Illustrations by Joseph Simpson, R.B.A. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Steven Spurrier. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustration from a Drawing. 


Illustrations from Sketches. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 


Illustrations by Rene Bull. 


CAREERS IN PICTURES. I.— The Right Hon. John Burns, M.P. 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 

44 CHEEK" 

Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull. 


Illustrations by A. K. Macdonald. 


Illustrations by I^eslie Hunter. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stolt. 


Illustrations by E. T. Reed. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles. 


Illustrations by Rene Bull. 
DERBY WINNER I EVER SAW, THE BEST. A Symposium of Leading Racing Men ... 697 

Illustrations from Photographs and Notes by Mr. W. Allison of The Sportsman. 

DIAMOND PENDANT, A Horace Amiesley Vuchell. 208 

Illustrations by Rene Bull. 


Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I. 

DICKENS TESTIMONIAL STAMP, THE 46,217.302,465,611,684 

DUAL CONTROL W. W.Jacobs. 725 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

, mlr Original from 



E. Bland. 686 

A for ley Roberts. 221 

...F. Frankfort Moore. 34 

Sir Henry Lucy. 704 

Alfred Taylor. 6 1 2 

118, 246, 373, 504, 628, 748 

Horace Annesley Vac hell. 389 




Austin Philips. 441 

W. W.Jacobs. 176 

Written and Illustrated by Richard Kerr. 744 
Frederic G. Hodsoll. 660 


Illustrations by W. Dewar. 


Illustrations by Will Owm. 



Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by H. * Danville Fell, Dudley Hardy, R.I., Rene Bull, John Hassall, R.I., H. M. Brock, R.I., 
E. J. Sullivan, A.R.W.S., J. Simpson, R.U.A., Alec Ball, and H. R. Millar. 

"GLIMA." The Secret Sport of Iceland Johannes Josefsson. 281 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

GREAT FOOD QUESTION, THE. I.— The Way Out. II.— Poetic Jitstice. Max Rittenberg. 406 

Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I. 

"GRIGSBY— ANTIQUES" Edward Cecil. 131 

Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 

GUARDIAN ANGEL, THE ... W. W.Jacobs. 456 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

HAND AT BACCARAT, A Charles Garvice. 600 

Illustrations by A. K. Macdonald. 

HIS DEPUTY E.M.Jameson. 481 

Illustrations by W. H. Margetson, R.I. 

HOROSCOPE, A Dorothea DeaHn. 162 

Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 

HOW IT FEELS TO BE CROWNED. Queen Anne Boleyn— William and Mary— Queen Anne 
— George IV. — The Empress Josephine and Queen Victoria 

Illustration* from Paintings. 

14 HOW I WROTE MY MOST POPULAR SONG." By the Composers of the Favourite 

Songs of the Moment 

Illustrations from Facsimiles. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Rene Bull. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Paintings. 


Illustrations by G. Sullivan. 


II. — The Adventure of the Arl£sienne 

III. — The Adventure of the Foundling ... „.. 
IV. — The Adventure of the Kind Mr. Smith 

Illustrations by Alec Ball. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 


Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs and Caricatures. 


Illustrations by W. H. Margetson, R.I. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 


Illustrations by W. Dewar. 


Illustration from a Photograph. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 




fohnj. Ward, F.E.S. 90 

Arthur Morrison. 553 

Arthur Morrison. 1 83 

Arthur Morrison. 422 

-* 4*5 

/ Villia m J. # Locke. 
* ••• 3 



W. Dalton. 94 

Barry Pain. 467 

E. Temple Thurston. 81 


E. M Jameson. 342 

59* 233 

Austin Philips. 19 

E. Af. Jameson. 66j 


E. Phillips Oppenheim. 711 


Original from 

^: r }f)^ 

iv. INDEX. 


PATENTS, A PARADISE OF £ . S. Valentine. C44 

Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull and H. A. Hogg. 

PERPLEXITIES Henry E. Dudeney. 116, 235, 362, 503, 627, 746 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

PIGEON PHOTOGRAPHERS. What France and Germany are Doin^ 720 


Mr. William Hkskkth Lfa'er. 336 

Mr. George Caorury. 550 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. ^ J *"" 

PROOF, THE . Violet M. Methley. 189 

Illustrations by Ernest Prater. ^ 


QUESTION, THE ... Market IVestruf. 313 

Illustrations by Alec BalL ,s * ° 3 


READER'S LOVE STORY, THE c // Hoviil \o 

Illustrations by W. Dewar. D 


Illustrations by Ren* Bull. 

SHERLOCK HOLMES, A REMINISCENCE OF. The Adventure of the Kki> Circle. 

Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I., and Joseph Simpson, R.B.A. Attkur Conan Doyle. 259, 428 
SHOT IN THE DARK, A Bernard Darwin. 288 

Illustrations by John Cameron. 

"SONG, HOW I WROTE MY MOST POPULAR." By the Composers of the Favourite 

Songs of the Moment 75 

Illustrations from Facsimiles. 

SPEAKER'S CHAIR, FROM BEHIND THE Sir Henry Lucy. 140, 267, 399, 568 

Illustrations by E. T. Reed. 

SPRING FLOWERS IN WINTER S. Leonard Bastin. 113 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Drawings and Facsimiles. 

STAGE AND THE DRAWING-ROOM, THE. Wcll-Known Entertainers' Experiences 201 

STAGE AS A PROFESSION, THE. Symposium of Well-Known Actors and Actresses ... ... 593 

Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles. 

TALES OF A TERM Max Rittenberg. 147 

I.— Court-Martialled. II. —The Revolt. III.— The Worm That Turned Out Trumps. 

Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I. 

TELEGRAM, THE ... AL F Hutchinson. 273 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

"TOOTATOO." A Really New Card Game 3^9 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

TREES IN* SNOW, THE IDENTITY OF ... John J. Ward, F.E.S. 90 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Prints. 


Illustrations by Hnl Hurst, R.I., and from Photographs. 

WAITERS, AN ACADEMY FOR Paul Et.wards. 28 

Illustrations by Joseph Simpson, R. B A. 


I Hum rations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

WOMEN'S RIGHTS— AND MEN'S. Ths Hen. Mrs. Fitzroy Stewart and Miss Christabel Pankhurst. 525 
Illustrations by George Morrow. 

WONDERFUL GARDEN, THE, A Story for Children. E. Neshit. 105, 236, 363, 494, 617, 73 6 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


rv ■»■ ~<h (""rkruiL-" Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 





(See /Kge 5.) 


Original from 


The Joyous Adventures 
of Aristiae Pu] ol. 


Illustrated ty Alec Ball, 
ii— Tne Adventure or the Arlesiemie. 

a sunny farewell at the door 
of the Hotel du Luxembourg 
at Nimes, and, valise in hand, 
darted off in his impetuous 
fash ion j across the Place de 
T Esplanade. I felt 


thing like a pang at the sight of his retreating 
figure, as, on his own confession, he had not 
a penny in the world. I wondered what he 
would do for food and lodging, to say 
nothing of tobacco, aptrififs^ and other such 
necessaries of life. The idea of so gay a 
creature starving was abhorrent. Yet my 
invitation to stay as my guest at the hotel 
until he saw an opportunity of improving 
his financial situation he had courteously 

Early next morning I found him awaiting 

YoL all — 1 Copyright, 19 iq, hy W t J r Lwltt, 

me in the lounge and smoking an excellent 
cigar. He explained that so dear a friend as 
myself ought to be the first to hear the glad 
tidings. Last evening, by the grace of 
Heaven, he had run across a bare acquain- 
tance, a manufacturer of nougat at Mont<*~ 
II mar ; had spent several hours in his 
company, with the result that he had con- 
vinced him of two things : first, that the 
dry, crumbling, shortbread-like nougat of 
Montelimar way unknown in England, where 
the population subsisted on a sickly, glutinous 
mess whereto the medical faculty had ascribed 
the prevalent dyspepsia of the population ; 
and, secondly, that the one Heaven-certified 
apostle who could spread the glorious gospel 
of MontcHimar nougat over the length and 
breadth of Great Britain and Ireland was 
himself, Arktide PujoL A handsome salary 

i,,l " u, ffl^MirSrMICHIGAN 


had been arranged, of which he had already 
drawn something on account — hinc ilk 
Colorado — and he was to accompany his 
principal the next day to Montdlimar, en 
route for the conquest of Britain. In the 
meantime he was as free as the winds, and 
would devote the day to showing me the 
wonders of the town. 

I congratulated him on his almost fantastic 
good fortune and gladly accepted his offer. 

II There is one thing I should like to ask 
you," said I % "and it is this. Yesterday after- 
noon you refused my cordially-offered hospi- 
tality, and went away without a sou to bless 
yourself with. What did you do ? I ask 
out of curiosity. How does a man set about 
trying to subsist on nothing at all ? " 

" It's very simple," he replied. " Haven't 
I told you, and haven't you seen for yourself, 
that I never lose an opportunity ? More 
than that. It has been my rule in life either 
to make friends with the Mammon of Un- 
righteousness — he's a muddle-headed ass is 
Mammon, and you can steer clear of his 
unrighteousness if you're sharp enough — or 
else to cast my bread upon the waters in the 
certainty of finding it again after many days. 
In the case in question I took the latter 
course. I cast my bread a year or two ago 
upon the waters of the Roman baths, which 
I will have the pleasure of showing you this 
morning, and I found it again last night at 
the Hotel de la Curatterie." 

In the course of the day he related to me 
the following artless history. 

And here, as I have nothing more to do, 
save in the most external manner, with the 
fortunes of Aristide Pujol, I take the 
opportunity of withdrawing my unimportant 
and uninteresting personality from these 

Aristide Pujol arrived at Nimes one blazing 
day in July. He had money in his pocket 
and laughter in his soul. He had also 
deposited his valise at the Hotel du Luxem- 
bourg, which, as all the world knows, is the 
most luxurious hotel in the town. Joyousness 
of heart impelled him to a course of action 
which the good Nimois regard as maniacal in 
the sweltering July heat — he walked about 
the baking streets for his own good pleasure. 

Aristide Pujol was floating a company, a 
process which afforded him as much delirious 
joy as the floating, for the first time, of a toy 
yacht affords a child. It was a company to 
build an hotel in Perpignan, where the recent 
demolition of the fortifications erected by 
the Emperor Charles V. had set free a vast 

expanse of valuable building ground on the 
other side of the little river on which the old 
town is situated. The best hotel in Perpignan 
being one to get away from as soon as 
possible, owing to restriction of site, Aristide 
conceived the idea of building a spacious 
and palatial hostelry in the new part of the 
town, which should allure all the motorists 
and tourists of the globe to that Pyrenean 
Paradise. By sheer audacity he had con- 
trived to interest an eminent Paris- architect 
in his project. Now the man who listened 
to Aristide Pujol was lost. With the glitter- 
ing eye of the Ancient Mariner he combined 
the winning charm of a woman. For salva- 
tion, you either had to refuse to see him, as 
all the architects to the end of the R's in the 
alphabetical list had done, or put wax, 
Ulysses-like, in your ears, a precaution 
neglected by the eminent M. Say. M. Say 
went to Perpignan and returned in a state 
of subdued enthusiasm. 

A limited company was formed, of which 
Aristide Pujol, man of vast experience in 
affairs, was managing director. But money 
came in slowly. A financier was needed. 
Aristide looked through his collection of 
visiting-cards, and therein discovered that 
of a deaf ironmaster at St. £tienne whose 
life he had once saved at a railway 
station by dragging him, as he was crossing 
the line, out of the way of an express 
train that came thundering through. 
Aristide, man of impulse, went straight to 
St. fetienne, to work upon the ironmaster's 
sense of gratitude. Meanwhile, M. Say, 
man of more sober outlook, bethought 
him of a client, an American millionaire, 
passing through Paris, who had speculated 
considerably in hotels. The millionaire, 
having confidence in the eminent M. Say, 
thought well of the scheme. He was 
just off to Japan, but would drop down to 
the Pyrenees the next day and look at the 
Perpignan site before boarding his steamer 
at Marseilles. If his inquiries satisfied him, 
and he could arrange matters with the 
managing director, he would not mind putting 
a million dollars or two into the concern. 
You must kindly remember that I do not 
vouch for the literal accuracy of everything 
told me by Aristide Pujol. 

The question of the all important meeting 
between the millionaire and the managing 
director then arose. As Aristide was at 
St. fetienne it was arranged that they should 
meet at a half-way stage on the latter's 
journey from Perpignan to Marseilles. The 
Hotel du Luxembourg at Nimes was the 

-_• I M.| 1 1 I •.1 1 M'-Jrfl 



place, and two o'clock on Thursday the time 

Meanwhile Aristide had found that the 
deaf ironmaster had died months ago. This 
was a disappointment, but fortune compen- 
sated him. This part of his adventure is 
somewhat vague, but I gathered that he was 
lured by a newly-made acquaintance into a 
gambling den, where he won the prodigious 
sum of two thousand francs. With this 
wealth jingling and crinkling in his pockets 
he fled the town and arrived at Nimes 
on Wednesday morning, a day before his 

That was why he walked joyously about 
the blazing streets. The tide had turned at 
last. Of the success of his interview with 
the millionaire he had not the slightest 
doubt. He walked about building gorgeous 
castles in Perpignan — which, by the way, is 
not very far from Spain. At last he reached 
the Jardin de la Fontaine, the great, stately 
garden laid out in complexity of terrace and 
bridge and balustraded parapet over the 
waters of the old Roman baths by the 
master hand to which Louis XIV. had 
entrusted the Garden of Versailles. Aristide 
threw himself on a bench and fanned him- 
self with his straw hat. 

" Mon Dieu I it's hot ! " he remarked to 
another occupant of the seat. 

This was a woman, and, as he saw when 
she turned her face towards him, an exceed- 
ingly handsome woman. Her white lawn 
and black silk head-dress, coming to a tiny 
crown just covering the parting of her full 
wavy hair, proclaimed her of the neigh- 
bouring town of Aries. She had all the 
Arldsienne's Roman beauty — the finely- 
chiselled features, the calm, straight brows, 
the ripe lips, the soft oval contour, the clear 
olive complexion. She had also lustrous 
brown eyes ; but these were full of tears. 
She only turned them on him for a moment ; 
then she resumed her apparently interrupted 
occupation of sobbing. Aristide was a soft- 
hearted man. He drew nearer. 

" Why, you're crying, madame ! " said he. 

" Evidently," murmured the lady. 

"To cry scalding tears in this weather! 
It's too hot! Now, if you could only cry 
iced water there would be something refresh- 
ing in it" 

11 You jest, monsieur," said the lady, drying 
her eyes. 

" By no means," said he. " The sight of 
so beautiful a woman in distress is painful." 

" Ah ! " she sighed. " I am very unhappy." 

Aristide drew nearer still. 

" Who," said he, " is the wretch that has 
dared to make you so ? " 

" My husband," replied the lady, swallowing 
a sob. 

"The scoundrel !" said Aristide. 

The lady shrugged her shoulders and 
looked down at her wedding-ring, which 
gleamed on a slim, brown, perfectly-kept 
hand. Aristide prided himself on being a 
connoisseur in hands. 

"There never was a husband yet," he 
added, " who appreciated a beautiful wife. 
Husbands only deserve harridans." 

"That's true," said the Arlesienne, "for 
when the wife is good-looking they are 

" Ah, that is the trouble, is it ? " said 
Aristide. " Tell me all about it." 

The beautiful Arlesienne again contem- 
plated her slender fingers. 

" I don't know you, monsieur." 

" But you soon will," said Aristide, in his 
pleasant voice and with a laughing, challeng- 
ing glance in his bright eyes. She met it 
swiftly and sidelong. 

" Monsieur," she said, " I have been 
married to my husband for four years, and 
have always been faithful to him." 

" That's praiseworthy," said Aristide. 

" And I love him very much." 

" That's unfortunate ! " said Aristide. 


" Parbleu ! " said Aristide. 

Their eyes met. They burst out laughing. 
The lady quickly recovered and the tears 
sprang again. 

" One can't jest with a heavy heart ; and 
mine is very heavy." She broke down through 
self-pity. " Oh, I am ashamed ! " she cried. 

She turned away from him, burying her 
face in her hands. Her dress, cut low, 
showed the nape of her neck as it rose 
gracefully from her shoulders. Two little 
curls had rebelled against being drawn up 
with the rest of her hair. The back of a 
dainty ear, set close to the head, was provok- 
ing in its pink loveliness. Her attitude, that 
of a youthful Niobe, all tears, but at the same 
time all curves and delicious contours, would 
have played the deuce with an anchorite. 

Aristide, I would have you remember, was 
a child of the South. A child of the North, 
regarding a bewitching woman, thinks how 
nice it would be to make love to her, and 
wastes his time in wondering how he can do 
it. A child of the South neither thinks nor 
wonders ; he makes love straight away. 

" Madame," said Aristide, " you are ador- 
able, and I love you to distraction." 



She started up. H Monsieur, you forget 
yourself ! " 

" If I remember anything else in the wide 
world but you, it would be a poor compli- 
ment. I forget everything. You turn my 
head, you ravish my heart, and you put joy 
into my soul/' 

He meant it — intensely — for the moment 

" I ought not to listen to you,' 1 said the 
lady, " especially when I am so unhappy." 

" All the more 
reason to seek 
consolation/' re- 
plied Aristide. 

" Monsieu r," 
she said, after a 
short pause, " you 
look good and 
loyal I will tell 
you what is the 
matter. My hus- 
band accuses me 
although I know 
that appearances 
are against me. 
He only allows 
me In the house 
on sufferance, and 
is taking mea- 
sures to procure 
a divorce." 

"A la bonne 
hcure / " cried 
Anstide, excitedly 
casting away his straw hat, 
which an unintentional 
twist of the wrist caused 
to skim horizontally and 
nearly decapitate a small 
and perspiring soldier who happened 
to pass by, "A ia bonnt heure ! T>et 
him divorce you. You arc then free. 
You can he mine without any further 

" But I love my husband," she 
smiled, sadly. 

" Bah !" said he, with the scepticism 
of the lover and the Proven ^al. 
" And, by the way, who is your 

" He is M. £mile Bocardon, pro 
prietor of the Hotel de la Curatterie." 

"And you?" 

"I am Mme. Rocardon," she replied, with 
the faintest touch of roguery, 

"But your Christian name? How is it 
possible for me to think of you as Mme, 
Bocardon ? " 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

They argued the question, Eventually 
she confessed to the name of Zette. 

Her confidence not stopping there, she 
told him how she came by the name; how 
she was brought up by her Aunt Leonie at 
Raphfele, some five miles from Aries, and 
many other unexciting particulars of her 
early years. Her baptismal name was Louise. 
Her mother who died when she was young, 
called her Louisette. Aunt L£onie t a very 

busy woman, with 
no time for super- 
fluous syllables, 
called her Zette. 

" Zette ! * He 
cast up his eyes 
as if she had been 
canonized and he 
was invoking her 
in rapt worship. 
" Zette, I adore 
you ! " 

Zette was ex- 
tremely sorry. 
She, on her side, 
adored the cruel 
M, Bocardon 
Incidentally she 
learned Aristide's 
name and quality. 
He was an agent 
d'affaires^ ex- 
tremely rich — had 
he not two thou- 
sand francs and 
an American mil- 
lionaire in his pocket? 

11 M. Pujol," she said, "the 
earth holds but one thing that 
I desire, the love and trust 
of my husband." 

[i The good Bocardon is 
becoming tiresome," said 

Zette's lips parted, as she 
pointed to a black speck at 
the iron entrance gates. 
" Mon Dim ! there he is ! " 
" He has become tire- 
some," said Aristide. 

She rose, displaying to its 
full advantage her supple and 
stately figure. She had a 
queenly poise of the head. Aristide con- 
templated her with the frankest admiration. 

"One would say Juno was walking the 
earth again." 

Although Zette had never heard of Juno, 
and was as miserable and heavy-hearted a 




woman as dwelt in Nimes, a flush of pleasure 
rose to her cheeks. • She too was a child of 
the South, and female children of the South 
love to be admired, no matter how frankly. 
I have heard of Daughters of the Snows not 
quite averse to it. She sighed. 

"I must go now, monsieur. He must 
not find me here with you. I am suffering 
enough already from his reproaches. Ah ! 
it is unjust— unjust ! " she cried, clenching 
her hands, while the tears again started into 
her eyes, and the corners of her pretty lips 
twitched with pain. "Indeed," she added, 
" I know it has been wrong of me to talk to 
you like this. But que voulez-vous ? It was 
not my fault. Adieu, monsieur." 

At the sight of her standing before him in 
her woeful beauty, Aristide's pulses throbbed. 

"It is not adieu — it is au rtvoir y Mme. 
Zette," he cried. 

She protested tearfully. It was farewell. 
Aristide darted off to his rejected hat and 
clapped it on the back of his head. He 
joined her and swore that he would see her 
again. It was not Aristide Pujol who would 
allow her to be rent in pieces by the jaws of 
that crocodile, M. Bocardon. Faith, he 
would defend her to the last drop of his 
blood. He would do all manner of gascon- 
ading things. 

" But what can you do, my poor 
M. Pujol?" she asked. 

" You will see," he replied. 

They parted. He watched her until she 
became a speck and, having joined the other 
speck, her husband, passed out of sight. 
Then he set out through the burning gardens 
towards the Hotel du Luxembourg, at the 
other end of the town. 

Aristide had fallen in love. He had fallen 
in love with Proven9al fury. He had done 
the same thing a hundred times before ; but 
this, he told himself, was the coup de foudre 
— the thunderbolt. The beautiful Arl&ienne 
filled his brain and his senses. Nothing else 
in the wide world mattered. Nothing else 
in the wide world occupied his mind. He 
sped through the hot streets like a meteor in 
human form. A stout man, sipping syrup 
and water in the cool beneath the awning of 
the Caf<£ de la Bourse, rose, looked wonder- 
ingly after him, and resumed his seat, wiping 
a perspiring brow. 

A short while afterwards Aristide, valise in 
hand, presented himself at the bureau of the 
Hotel de la Curatteric. It was a dingy little 
hotel, with a dingy little oval sign outside, 
and was situated in the narrow street of the 
same name. Within, it was clean and well 

kept. On the right of the little dark entrance- 
hall was the salle a manger^ on the left the 
bureau and an unenticing hole labelled salon 
de eorrespondance. A very narrow passage led 
to the kitchen, and the rest of the hall was 
blocked by the staircase. An enormous man 
with a simple, woebegone fat face and a head 
of hair like a circular machine brush was 
sitting by the bureau window in his shirt- 
sleeves. Aristide addressed him. 

" M. Bocardon ? " 

" At your service, monsieur." 

" Can I have a bedroom ? " 

" Certainly." He waved a hand towards 
a set of black sample boxes studded with 
brass nails and bound with straps that lay in 
the hall. " The omnibus has brought your 
boxes. You are M. Lambert ? " 

" M. Bocardon," said Aristide, in a lordly 
way, " I am M. Aristide Pujol, and not a 
commercial traveller. I have come to see 
the beauties of Nimes, and have chosen this 
.hotel because I have the honour to be a 
distant relation of your wife, Mme. Zette 
Bocardon, whom I have not seen for many 
years. How is she?" 

"Her health is very good," replied M. 
Bocardon, shortly. He rang a bell. 

A dilapidated man in a green baize apron 
emerged from the dining-room and took 
Aristide's valise. 

"No. 24," said M. Bocardon. Then, 
swinging his massive form half-way through 
the narrow bureau door, he called down the 
passage, " Euph&nie ! ". 

A woman's voice responded, and in a 
moment the woman herself appeared, a 
pallid, haggard, though more youthful, 
replica of Zette, with the dark rings of sleep- 
lessness or illness beneath her eyes, which 
looked furtively at the world. 

"Tell your sister," said M. Bocardon, 
" that a relation of yours has come to stay 
in the hotel." 

He swung himself back into the bureau 
and took no further notice of the guest. 

" A relation ? " echoed Euphemie, staring 
at the smiling, lustrous-eyed Aristide, whose 
busy brain was wondering how he could 
mystify this unwelcome and unexpected sister. 

" Why, yes. Aristide, cousin to your good 
Aunt L^onie at Raphele. Ah — but you 
are too young to remember me." 

" I will tell Zette," she said, disappearing 
down the narrow passage. 

Aristide went to the doorway, and stood 
there looking out into the not too savoury 
street. On the opposite side, which was in 
the shade, the tenants of the modest little 




shops sat by their doors or on chairs on the 
pavement There was considerable whisper- 
ing among them and various glances were 
cast at him. Presently footsteps behind 
caused him to turn. There was Zette. She 
had evidently been weeping since they had 
parted, for her eyelids were red. She started 
on beholding him. 


He laughed and shook her hesitative hands. 

" It is I, Aristide. But you have grown ! 
Peeaire I How you have grown ! " He 
swung her hands apart and laughed merrily 
in her bewildered eyes. " To think that the 
little Zette in pigtails and short check skirt 
should have grown into this beautiful woman ! 
I compliment you on your wife, M. Bocardon." 

M. Bocardon did not reply, but Aristide's 
swift glance noticed a spasm of pain shoot 
across his broad face. 

"And the good Aunt Leonie? Is she 
well ? And does she still make her matelotes 
of eels? Ah, they were good, those matelotes" 

"Aunt Leonie died two years ago," said 

" The poor woman ! And I who never 
knew. Tell me about her." 

The salle a manger door stood open. He 
drew her thither by his curious fascination. 
They entered, and he shut the door behind 

"Foila/" said he. "Didn't I tell you I 
should see you again ? " 

"Vous avez un fameux toupet^ vous I " said 
Zette, half angrily. 

He laughed, having been accused of con- 
founded impudence many times before in 
the course of his adventurous life. 

" If I told my husband he would kill you." 

"Precisely. So you're not going to tell 
him. I adore you. I have come to protect 
you. Foi de Provettfal" 

" The only way to protect me is to prove 
my innocence." 

"And then?" 

She drew herself up and looked him 
straight between' the eyes. 

" I'll recognize that you have a loyal heart, 
and will be your very good friend." 

" Mme. Zette," cried Aristide, " I will 
devote my life to your service. Tell me the 
particulars of the affair." 

"Ask M. Bocardon." She left him, and 
sailed out of the room and past the bureau 
with her proud head in the air. 

If Aristide Pujol had the rapturous idea 
of proving the innocence of Mme. Zette, 
triumphing over the fat pig of a husband, 
and eventually, in a fantastic fashion, carrying 

off the insulted and spotless lady to some 
bower of delight (the castle in Perpignan — 
why not?), you must blame, not him, but 
Provence, whose sons, if not devout, are 
frankly pagan. Sometimes they are both. 

M. Bocardon sat in his bureau, pretending 
to do accounts and tracing columns of figures 
with a huge, trembling forefinger. He looked 
the picture of woe. Aristide decided to bide 
his opportunity. He went out into the streets 
again, now with the object of killing time. 
The afternoon had advanced, and trees and 
buildings cast cool shadows, in which one 
could walk with comfort ; and Nimes, clear, 
bright city of wide avenues and broad open 
spaces, instinct too with the grandeur that 
was Rome's, is an idler's Paradise. Aristide 
knew it well ; but he never tired of it. 
He wandered round the Maison Carrie, his 
responsive nature delighting in the splen- 
dour of the Temple, with its fluted 
Corinthian columns, its noble entablature, 
its massive pediment, its perfect proportions ; 
reluctantly turned down the Boulevard 
Victor Hugo, past the Lyc£e and the Bourse, 
made the circuit of the mighty, double-arched 
oval of the Arena, and then retraced his 
steps. As he expected, M. Bocardon had 
left the bureau. It was the hour of absinthe. 
The porter named M. Bocardon's habitual 
cafe. There, in a morose corner of the 
terrace, Aristide found the huge man 
gloc)mily contemplating an absurdly small 
glass of the bitters known as Dubonnet. 
Aristide raised his hat, asked permission to 
join him, and sat down. 

" M. Bocardon," said he, carefully mixing 
the absinthe which he had ordered, " I learn 
from my fair cousin that there is between 
you a regrettable misunderstanding, for 
which I am sincerely sorry." 

"She calls it a misunderstanding?" He 
laughed mirthlessly. "Women have their 
own vocabulary. Listen, my good sir. 
There is infamy between us. When a wife 
betrays a man like me — kind, indulgent, 
trustful, who has worshipped the ground she 
treads on — it is not a question of misunder- 
standing. It is infamy. If she had any- 
where to lay her head, I would turn her out 
of doors to-night. But she has not. You, 
who are her relative, know I married her 
without a dowry. You alone of her family 

It was on the tip of Aristide's impulsive 
tongue to say that he would be only too willing 
to shelter her, but prudently he refrained. 

"She has broken my heart," continued 
Bocarddwi £ 



Ar is tide asked for details of the unhappy 
affair. The large man hesitated for a 
moment and glanced suspiciously at his com- 
panion ; but, fascinated by the clear, luminous 
eyes, he launched with Southern violence into 
a whirling story. The villain was a traveller 
in buttons — buttons ! To be wronged by a 
traveller in diamonds might have its com- 

er Cognac. A contemptible creature. For a 
long time he had his suspicions. Now he 
was certain* He tossed off his glass of 
Dubonnet, ordered another, and spoke in- 
coherently of the opening and shutting of 
doors, of whisperings, of a dreadful incident, 
the central fact of which was a glimpse of 
Zette gliding wraith-like down a corridor. 
Lastly, there was the culminating 
proof, a letter found that morning 
in Zette's room. He drew a 
crumpled sheet from his pocket 
and handed it to Aristide* 

It was a crude, flaming, repre- 
hensible, and entirely damning 
epistle. Aristide turned 
cold, shivering at the 
idea of the superb and 
dainty Zette coming 
in contact with such 
abomination. He 
hated Bondon with a 
murderous hate. He 
drank a great gulp of 


'the villain was a traveller in BUTTONS— BUTTONS 1" 

pen sat ions— but buttons ! Linen buttons, 
bone buttons, brass buttons, troustr buttons I 
To be a traveller in the inanity of button- 
holes was the only lower degradation. His 
name was Bondon — he uttered it scathingly, 
as if to decline from a Bocardon to a Bondon 
was unthinkable- This Bondon was a regular 
client of the hotel, and such a client ! — who 
never ordered a bottle of vin €achtik or coffee 



absinthe and wished it were Bondon's blood. 
Great tears rolled down Bocardon's face, and 
gathering at the ends of his scrubby moustache 
dripped in splashes on the marble table. 

"I loved her so tenderly, monsieur," 
said he. 

The cry, so human, went straight to Aris- 
tide's heart. A sympathetic tear glistened 
in his bright OBfgfrn a WfoW s suddenly filled 




with an immense pity for this grief-stricken, 
helpless giant. An odd feminine streak ran 
through his nature and showed itself in queer 
places. Impulsively he stretched out his hand. 

" You're going ? " asked Bocardon. 

" No. A sign of good friendship." 

They gripped hands across the table. A 
new emotion thrilled through the facile 

" Bocardon, I devote myself to you," he 
cried, with a flamboyant gesture. "What 
can I do?" 

" Alas, nothing," replied the other, miser- 

" And Zette ? What does she say to it all ? " 

The mountainous shoulders heaved with 
a shrug. "She denies everything. She had 
never seen the letter until I showed it to her. 
She did not know how it came into her 
room. As if that were possible ! " 

" It's improbable," said Aristide, gloomily. 

They talked. Bocardon, in a choky voice, 
told the simple tale of their married happi- 
ness. It had been a love-match, different 
from the ordinary marriages of reason and 
arrangement. Not a cloud since their 
wedding-day. They were called the turtle- 
doves of the Rue de la Curatterie. He had 
not even manifested the jealousy justifiable 
in the possessor of so beautiful a wife. He 
had trusted her implicitly. He was certain 
of her love. That was enough. They had 
had one child, who died. Grief had brought 
them even nearer each other. And now this 
stroke had been dealt. It was a knife being 
turned round in his heart. It was agony. 

They walked back to the hotel together. 
Zette, who was sitting by the desk in the 
bureau, rose and, without a word or look, 
vanished down the passage. Bocardon, with 
a great sigh, took her place. It was dinner- 
time. The half-dozen guests and frequenters 
filled for a moment the little hall, some 
waiting to wash their hands at the primitive 
lavabo by the foot of the stairs. Aristide 
accompanied them into the salle a manger^ 
where he dined in solemn silence. The 
dinner over he went out again, passing by 
the bureau where Bocardon, in its dim 
recesses, was eating a sad meal brought to 
him by the melancholy Euph^mie. Zette, 
he conjectured, was dining in the kitchen. 
An atmosphere of desolation impregnated 
the place, as though a corpse were some- 
where in the house. 

Aristide drank his coffee at the nearest 
cafe in a complicated state of mind. He 
had fallen furiously in love with the lady, 
believing her to be the victim of a jealous 

Digitized by V^iOOQ lC 

husband. In an outburst of generous emotion 
he had taken the husband to his heart, seeing 
that he was a good man stricken to death. 
Now he loved the lady, loved the husband, 
and hated the villain Bondon. What Aristide 
felt, he felt fiercely. He would reconcile 
these two people he loved, and then go and, 
if not assassinate Bondon, at least do him 
some bodily injury. With this idea in his 
head, he paid for his coffee and went back to 
the hotel. 

He found Zette taking her turn at the 
bureau, for clients have tp be attended to, 
even in the most distressing circumstances. 
She was talking to a new arrival, trying to 
smile a welcome. Aristide, loitering near, 
watched her beautiful face, to which the 
perfect classic features gave an air of noble 
purity. His soul revolted at the idea of her 
mixing herself up with a sordid wretch like 
Bondon. It was unbelievable. 

" Eh bien f " she said, as soon as they were 

" Mme. Zette, to-day I called your 
husband a scoundrel and a crocodile. I was 
wrong. I find him a man with a beautiful 

" You needn't tell me that, M. Aristide." 

11 You are breaking his heart, Mme. Zette." 

" And is he not breaking mine? He has 
told you, I suppose. Am I responsible for 
what I know nothing more about than a babe 
unborn? You don't believe I am speaking 
the truth ? Bah ! And your professions 
this afternoon? Wind and gas, like the 
words of all men." 

" Mme. Zette," cried Aristide, " I said I 
would devote my life to your service, and so 
I will. I'll go and find Bondon and kill him." 

He watched her narrowly, but she did not 
grow pale like a woman whose lover is 
threatened with mortal peril. She said, 
dryly : — 

"You had better have some conversation 
with him first." 

" Where is he to be found ? " 

She shrugged her shoulders. " How do I 
know ? Tiens I He left by the early train 
this morning that goes in the direction of 

"Then to-morrow," said Aristide, who 
knew the ways of commercial travellers, "he 
will be at Tarascon, or at Avignon, or at 

" I heard him say that he had just done 

" Tant mieux. I shall find him either at 
Tarascon or Avignon. And by the Tarasque 
of Ste. Marthe, I'll bring you his head and 



1 1 

you can put it up outside as a sign and call 
the place the ' Hotel de la Tetede Bondon.'" 
Early the next morning Aristide started 
on his quest, without informing the good 
Bocardon of his intentions. He would go 
straight to Avignon, as the more likely place, 
Inquiries at the various hotels would soon 
enable him to hunt down his quarry ; and 
then — he did not quite know what would 
happen then — but it would be something 
picturesque, something entirely unforeseen 
by Bon don, something 
to be thnllingly deter- 
mined by the inspira- 
tion of the moment. 
In any case he would 
wipe the stain from the 
family escutcheon. By 
this time he had quite 
convinced himself that 
he belonged to the 
Bocardon family. 

The only other occu- 
pant of the first ■ class 
compartment was an 
elderly Englishwoman 
of sour aspect Aristide, 
his head full of Zette 
and Bondon, scarcely 
noticed her. The train 
started and sped 
through the sunny land 
of vine and olive, 
They had almost 

reached Tarascon when 
a sudden thought hit 

him between the eyes, 

like the blow of a fist 

Hegasped for a moment, 

then he burst into 

shrieks of laughter, 

kicking his legs up and 

down and waving his 

arms in maniacal mirth. 

After that he rose and 

danced. The sour-faced 

Englishwoman, in 

mortal terror, fled into 

the corridor. She must 

have reported Ari slide's 

behaviour to the guard, 

for in a minute or two that official appeared 

at the doorway. 

" Qu'tit-ce tptily a ? " 

Aristide paused in his demonstrations of 

merriment u Monsieur," said he, u I have 

just discovered what 1 am going to do to 

M. Bondon." 

Delight bubbled out of him as he walked 

Digitized by Google 

from the Avignon Railway Station up the 
Cours de la R^publique* The wretch Bondon 
lay at his mercy. He had not proceeded far, 
however, when his quick eye caught sight of 
an object in the ramshackle display of a 
curiosity dealer's. He paused in front of the 
window, fascinated. He rubbed his eyes. 

" No," said he ; " it is not a dream. The 
hon Dieu is on my side-" 

He went into the shop and bought the 
object. It was a pair of handcuffs. 


At a little after three o'clock the small 
and dilapidated hotel omnibus drove up 
before the Hotel de la Cu ratter ie, and from 
it descended Aristide Pujol, radiant-eyed, and 
a scrubby little man with a goatee beard, 
pince-nez, and a domelike forehead, who, 
pale and trembling, seemed stricken with a 
great fear. It was liondon. Together thev 

un gin a I tronn 



entered the little hall. As soon as Bocardon 
saw his enemy his eyes blazed with fury, and, 
uttering an inarticulate roar more like that of 
an infuriated elephant than a man, he 
rushed out of the bureau with clenched fists 
murderously uplifted. The terrified Bondon 
shrank into a corner, protected by Aristide, 
who, smiling like an angel of peace, inter- 
cepted the onslaught of the huge man. 

44 Be calm, my good Bocardon, be calm." 

But Bocardon would not be calm. He 
found his voice. 

" Ah, scoundrel ! Miscreant ! Wretch ! 
Traitor ! " When his vocabulary of vituper- 
ation and his breath failed him, he paused 
and mopped his forehead. 

Bondon came a step or two forward. 

44 I know, monsieur, I have all the wrong 
on my side. Your anger is justifiable. But 
I never dreamt of the disastrous effect of my 
acts. Let me see her, my good M. Bocardon, 
I beseech you." 

" Let you see her ? " said Bocardon, grow- 
ing purple in the face. 

At this moment Zette came running up 
the passage. 

"What is all this noise about?" 

" Ah, madame ! " cried Bondon, eagerly, 
" I am heart-broken. You who are so kind 
— let me see her." 

" Hein?" exclaimed Bocardon, in stupe- 

44 See whom ? " asked Zette. 

" My dear dead one. My dear Euph^mie, 
who has committed suicide." 

11 But he's mad ! ' shouted Bocardon, in 
his great voice. " Euphemie ! Euphemie ! 
Come here ! " 

At the sight of Euphemie, pale and shiver- 
ing with apprehension, Bondon sank upon a 
bench by the wall. He stared at her as if 
she were a ghost. 

"I don't understand," he murmured, 
faintly, looking like a trapped hare at 
Aristide Pujol, who, debonair, hands on 
hips, stood a little way apart. 

44 Nor I, either," cried Bocardon. 

A great light dawned on Zette's beautiful 
face. " I do understand." She exchanged 
glances with Aristide. He came forward. 

" It's very simple," said he, taking the 
stage with childlike exultation. "I go to 
find Bondon this morning to kill him. In 
the train I have a sudden inspiration, a 
revelation from Heaven. It is not Zette but 
Euphemie that is the bonne amie of Bondon. 
I laugh, and frighten a long-toothed English 
old maid out of her wits. Shall I get out at 
Tarascon and return to Nimes and tell vou, 

Digitized by LiOO^ 

or shall I go on? I decide to go on. I 
make my plan. Ah, but when I make a 
plan, it's all in a second, a flash, pfuitt At 
Avignon I see a pair of handcuffs. I buy 
them. I spend hours tracking that animal 
there. At last I find him at the station 
about to start for Lyon. I tell him I am a 
police agent. I let him see the handcuffs, 
which convinced him. I tell him Euphdmie, 
in consequence of the discovery of his letter, 
has committed suicide. There is a proces- 
verbal at which he is wanted. I summon 
him to accompany me in the name of the 
law — and there he is." 

44 Then that letter was not for my wife ? " 
said Bocardon, who was not quick-witted. 

" But, no, imbecile ! " cried Aristide. 

Bocardon hugged his wife in his vast 
embrace. The tears ran down his cheeks. 

44 Ah, my little Zette, my little Zette, will 
you ever pardon me ? " 

44 Out\ je te pardonne^ gros jaloux" said 

44 And you ! " shouted Bocardon, falling on 
Aristide ; 44 1 must embrace you also." He 
kissed him on both cheeks, in his expansive 
way, and thrust him towards Zette. 44 You 
can also kiss my wife. It is I, Bocardon, 
who command it." 

The fire of a not ignoble pride raced 
through Aristide's veins. He was a hero. 
He knew it. It was a moment worth living. 

The embraces and other expressions of joy 
and gratitude being temporarily suspended, 
attention was turned to the iraheroic couple 
who up to then had said not one word to each 
other. The explanation of their conduct, 
too, was simple, apparently. They were in 
love. She had no dowry. He could not 
marry her, as his parents would not give 
their consent. She, for her part, was 
frightened to death by the discovery of the 
letter, lest Bocardon should turn her out of 
the house. 

44 What dowry will satisfy your parents ? " 

"Nothing less than twelve thousand francs." 

44 1 give it," said Bocardon, reckless in his 
newly-found happiness. 44 Marry her." 

The clock in the bureau struck four. 
Aristide pulled out his watch. 

44 Saptrlipopette I " he cried, and disap- 
peared like a flash into the street. 

44 But what's the matter with him ? " 
shouted Bocardon, in amazement. 

Zette went to the door. 44 He's running , 
as if he had the devil at his heels." 

44 Was he always like that ? " asked her 
husband. ! 

" Hov t)?^fl ? fTom 




" Parbku ! When 
you used to see 

him at your Aunt 

Zette flushed red. 
To repudiate the 
saviour of her entire 
family were an act of 
treachery too black for 
her ingenuous heart* 

" Ah , yes," she re- 
plied, calmly, coming 
back into the hall. 
"We used to call 
him Cousin Quick- 

In the big avenue 
Aristide hailed a pass- 
ing cab. 

14 To the Hotel du 
Luxembourg — at a 
gallop ! " 

In the joyous ex- 
citement of the past 
few hours this child 
of impulse and sun- 
shine, this dragon-fly 
of a man, had en- 
tirely forgotten the 
appointment at two 
o'clock with the Ame- 
rican millionaire and 
the fortune that de- 
pended on it; He 
would be angry at 
being kept waiting, 
Aristide had met 
Americans before. His 
swift brain invented an 
elaborate excuse, 

He leaped from the cab and entered the 
vestibule of the hotel. 

"Can I see M. Congleton?" he asked at 
the bureau, 

" An American gentleman ? He has gone, 
monsieur He left by the three-thirty train, 
Are you M Pujol ? There is a letter for 

With a sinking heart he opened it and 
read : — 

Dear Sir, — I was in this hotel at two o*clock, 
according to arrangement* As my last train to Japan 
leaves at three- ihirly, I re^rel I cannot await yimr 
convenience. The site of the hotel is satis factory, 
Your business mcthxls are not. I am sorry, there- 
fore, nu\ to be able to entertain the matter further, — 
Faith folly * WiLLIAM B. Conglkto.n, 




He stared at the words for a few paralyzed 

moments, Then he stuffed the letter into 
his pocket and broke into a laugh, 

n Zut ! " said he, using the inelegant 
expletive whereby a Frenchman most 
adequately expresses his scorn of circum- 
stance, " Zut t If I have lost a fortune, I 
have gained two devoted friends, so I am 
the winner on the day's work," 

Whereupon he returned gaily to the bosom 
of the Bocardon family and remained there, 
its Cousin Quicksilver and its entirely happy 
and idolized hero, until the indignation of 
the eminent M, Say summoned him to 

And that is how Aristide Pujol could live 
thenceforward on nothing at all at Nimes, 
whenever it suited him to visit that historic 

The ntxi story \ 

" The Adventure 

igilizedby vjC 


bundling" will be fmnd particularly amusing. 


Hunting Big Game with 
Lasso and Camera. 


Field-Manager of the Buffalo Jones African Expedition. 

itimirathns fr&m Copyright Photographs hy iht Baffnfo Jones African Company. 


M Buffalo Jones** {otherwise Colonel C. J. Jones), the Western ranchman, who has throttled wild 
wolves with his l*are hands, and who went to Africa to lasso lions, rhinos T giraffes, and other animals* is 
the hero of this expedition. L*ing a^u he hroke his rifle, and vowed ttait he would never again kill 
game save for food or in self defence. Wards cannot letter show the extraordinary nature of the 
exploits described in the following pages ihan those used by Mr. Roosevelt after seeing the cinematograph 
pictures at a club in New York. The rx- President clapped his hands with delight at the sight of moving 
pictures of the pursuit of a warl-hog, a zebra, a rhinoceros, and a lion. He explained in detail to his 
friends many of the interesting p?ints abuut African game, and shouted with glee at the sight of the 
pictures. Before he left the club he insisted upon taking the platform to pay a tribute to " Ruftiilu 
Jones" and the Mexican cow-punchers accompanying him, and another tribute, equally glowing, to the 
Englishman, Cherry Kearton, who had ccnemaiographed (heir gallant deeds. 

" I think," said Mr* Roosevelt, "that I am acquainted with all the notable lion hunts from the days 
of Tiglath Pileser to the present time, and I speak with ahsolute accuracy when I say that in all that 
period there has been no such feat as that portrayal which we witnessed to-night, and, above all, no such 
feat as the portrayal itself, To tackle those beasts with a rifle is one thing, but to tackle them with the 
rope is a perfectly marvellous feat. I was in Africa when word w r as brought that * Buffalo Jones ' and 
two cow-punchers were coming out there to rope the animals. Everybody laughed at the thought* They 
didn't believe that there was any seriousness in the proposal* I said* * You don't know those cow- 
punchers, and there is nothing they'll not try to do.' I didn't believe they could accomplish the feat. 
I didn't believe it possible to rope a lion or a rhinoceros as they did, and to have caught these pictures 
with a cinematograph is a thing that was never before begun to be approached. You have witnessed/' 
concluded Mr, Roosevelt, lS a really phenomenal record of a really phenomenal feat, and I congratulate Mr* 
Kearton with all my heart on what he has done, and I congratulate * Buffalo Jones' and the cow -punchers." 

HE morning star was still 
bright in the eastern heavens 
when the expedition rode out 
of camp in the early hours of 
April 8th. At the end of 
half a mile the three parties 
gradually separated on slightly 
diverging lines and moved silently to their 
appointed stations, leaving the horses and 
the camera-porters at the base of the reef, the 
three of us of the centre station climbed the 
rocks in the darkness and waited for the 

Slowly the first signs of day appeared over 
the hills and the morning star commenced to 
fade. As the light strengthened the wide 
panorama of the plains and the faroff 
mountains unfolded, and the individual 
patches of scrub and single trees began to 
stand out distinctly from the general blur of 
the darker reaches. 

For fully half an hour everything was still 
and the light steadily broadened. Then, 
suddenly, Ulyate pointed. 

Digitized by CjOOQLC 

In the plain to the south-east we could see 
a black speck moving about in a strange 
manner— first one way, then another, then 
stopping and moving on again. 

"It's the Colonel," said Kearton, who had 
the glasses. "I think I can see the dogs. 
He's up to something." 

It was not many minutes before the 
Colonel's actions took on a different trend. 
For a space he rode straight for the reef; 
then the smaller black specks of the dogs 
appeared on the plain in front. No doubt 
remained now of what the Colonel was up 
to. The dogs were on the trail of some 
animal — lion or hyena, there was no telling 
which— but the scent was hot and the hunt 
was coming strong. 

At one place the dogs made a big bend to 
the north toward our camp. So the beast, 
whatever it was, had come to have a look at 
us in the night. For the first time then, as 
they swung back for the rocks, we faintly 
heard a hound give tongue. It was the only 
sound in the stillness. Kearton began tearing 




up the dry grass that grew in the cracks 
between the mcks l and piled it in a heap. 

"Not yet/' said Ulyate; "wait till we're 

On came the hunt, following close to the 
southern base of the reef. The hound* 
could be heard giving tongue in turn now. 
The Colonel rode behind, leaning forvvard 
and cheering on the dogs, 

14 He's made for the rocks all right — 
come on, JJ said Ulyate, as, rifle in hand, he 
started down the cliff 

Kearton touched a match to the pile of 
grass and blew on it in his hurry, and as the 
small flame sprang into life he threw on some 
green stuff, and in a thin blue column the 
smoke rose up straight into the air. 

"That will fetch the boys all right/' he 
said, and we followed Ulyate down to the 

Although the delay in lighting I he fire 
was brief, yet by the time we had reached 

" It's a lioness," said Ulyate. "The dogs 
have got her bayed. Look out ! She's just 
on the other side of that bush. When I got 
here I found the Colonel seated on his horse, 
facing the beast and trying to rope her, He 
hadn't even a knife. Why she didn't charge 
him I don't know. He couldn't get away 
over this kind of ground. He told me to 
call the others, and so I fired." 

When the cowboys arrived from the 
distant donga they came threading their way 
toward us through the brush, leading their 
horses, A short consultation was held. 

" We've got to shift her," said the Colonel, 
"Can't do anything with her here. Bring 
the crackers. Bring There she goes ! " 

The lioness had decided the issue and had 
bolted of her own accord. There was a streak 
of yellow through the bushes, a scrambling of 
dogs, a wild, frightened cry from the approach- 
ing camera porters, and the hunt was on 
once more. 


the base and had mounted the horses, the 
Colonel, Ulyate, and the dogs had already 
passed out of sight beyond a farther out- 
jutting buttress of rock + We rounded the 
buttress only to find that the chase had 
vanished. The almost perpendicular wall of 
rocks was empty. There was a moment's 
halt. Then two quick shots rang out, and 
at once there began a general chorus of 
baying, yelping dogs* intermingled with the 
deep, heavy roar of a lion. 

The sounds came from somewhere In the 
thick growth on the top of the reef, so we 
left the horses and climbed toward the sound. 
On the plateau the ground was covered with 
rugged lava blocks, and the scrub and 
creepers were so dense that when K. ear ton 
shouted Ulyate's name the white hunter 
answered from not more than ten yards away. 

Digitized by L^OOQ IC 

The beast ran to an open cave at the edge 
of the plateau and crouched there facing the 
dogs. To manoeuvre the horses was abso- 
lutely out of the question, so the lioness had 
to be shifted again, For upwards of two 
hours then, by means of the dogs, fire- 
crackers, and lighting the grass, we drove her 
from one stronghold to another, from crevasse 
to crevasse, in trying to force her down off 
the reef. 

The sun rose and the heat commenced. 
The dogs were feeling the strain of the con- 
stant baying. One by one they would seek 
a spot of shade and lie panting there for a 
while and then return to the fray. Sounder, 
being weak from distemper, was the first to 
give out, but he had done his share of the 
work. Porters were sent back to camp to 
bring water. Because the ground was bad 




and the beast was on the defensive photo- 
graphy was difficult, but Kearton managed 
to catch small bits of action here and there, 
with Ulyate standing by him. 

The day advanced and the dogs showed 
signs of tiring fast, yet the lioness still clung 
to the stronghold of the rocks. Every 
means at hand to drive her into the open 
had been tried time and again without avail. 
The task began to look hopeless. We had 
already reached that stage when we saw our 
resources coming to an end. 

11 Get a pole," said the Colonel, "and we'll 
poke a noose over her." 

" It won't work," said Loveless. " We've 
tried that often enough to show it won't 

" All the same, we'll try it again," replied 
the Colonel. 

Loveless had just started to hunt for the 
pole when, without warning, the beast gave a 
quick, savage snarl, scattered the dogs from 
in front of her, and, dropping down the face 
of the reef to the plain below, ran straight 
for the distant donga. 

Old John led the chase with the rest of 
the dogs trailing along as best they could, 
and behind them the men and horses, 
camera-porters, saises, and dog-boys .went 
scrambling down the rocks in pursuit. 

On the bank of the donga the lioness 
stopped to fight the ropers. She had run 
far enough and meant business now, and the 
hunt came up and halted a short distance 
away for a breathing spell. 

The lioness had taken up her position at 
the end of a short tongue of land projecting 
into the donga, so that she was partially pro- 
tected on three sides. The yelping dogs had 
quickly surrounded her, but she paid little 
heed to them now. Crouched by the side of 
a small thorn-bush she watched every move 
of the horsemen preparing to advance. 

Kearton mounted his camera at one side 
of the scene, selecting his position with care 
to obtain the best background and general 
composition. He shifted about two or three 
times before he was satisfied. 

"Of course, there's no telling which way 
she's going to jump," he explained. " But we 
might as well get the beginning of it right." 

Means went first. Slowly he manoeuvred 
toward her for a chance to throw his rope, 
and the lioness, alert, opened her jaws and 
snarled at the horseman circling near. 

Closer and closer Means approached. 
Then all at once she charged. Means 
wheeled and spurred his horse to escape. 
For the first thirty yards of the race the 

lioness gained rapidly. Then the bay began 
to gather headway and slowly forged ahead. 

With a quick change of front the lioness 
turned and charged the Colonel, who was 
sitting on his horse near by. Again the 
lioness gained at first and again the horse 
drew away from her, and so, giving up the 
charge, she returned to another thorn-bush, 
where she crouched down low and snarled 
and growled as before. And all the while 
Kearton, on foot with his tripod, was busy 
taking pictures of the show. 

This second position of hers gave the 
horsemen a better chance. There was now 
more room in which to get near her by a 
quick dash past the bush. While Means 
edged round on the northern side, the 
Colonel moved to the south, and by tossing 
his rope about and shouting he managed to 
attract and hold her attention. In fact, he 
nearly succeeded too well, for once she rose 
to the first spring of the charge and the 
Colonel half wheeled his horse for flight, but 
the beast sank back again and glared at him. 

Then from behind her Means darted 
forward on the run, swinging his rope free 
round and round his head. Kearton began 

" Wait, the camera's jammed ! Wait a bit, 
she's jammed here ! " 

But there was no stopping then, and before 
the lioness knew what he was up to Means 
dashed by within a few feet of her and roped 
her round the neck. But a lioness's neck 
is short and thick, and with a quick, cat-like 
twist she slipped the noose over her ears. 

"Why can't they wait?" complained 
Kearton. "Somebody tell them to wait 
till I fix this. It's jammed. It must have 
got knocked on a rock somewhere. It never 
acted this way before." And all the while 
he talked his fingers were busy ripping out 
the jammed piece of film and loading up 

When he declared himself ready, Loveless, 
this time, had already taken up his position 
to the north. Again the Colonel waved his 
rope and shouted, and when the right 
moment came Loveless dashed past her and 
likewise roped her round the neck. Again 
the beast slipped the noose. 

Here a rather strange thing happened. 
We had been told on many occasions that 
in shooting lions the beast will give its atten- 
tion to the man who has the rifle, as if the 
instinct of the animal told it which man to 
fear. Up to this moment the lioness had 
held off the horsemen easily, but no sooner 
had she freed herself from Loveless's rope 



than she Bed into the donga and hid herself 
in a thicket of scrub and grass. 

For a lime then it seemed that nothing 
would move her from out this scrub. The 
dogs were finished ; men and horses were 
becoming played out ; fire- crackers and 
burning grass were used without result. 
Eventually the Colonel fastened a forked 

and she turned and broke away along the 

At once Means was after her, galloping 
hard, for without the dogs there was danger 
of our losing sight of her, But the lioness 
did not run far. Her next and last position 
was in the bed of a small gully about three 
feet deep in the bottom of the donga and 



stick to his rope and dragged it across her 
hiding place to uncover her This manoeuvre 
partly succeeded — succeeded enough, at 
least* for Loveless to throw his rope at 
her And at the sight of the rope coming 
toward her through the air she hurled her 
self at him like a flash, so that it was only 
the side jump of his horse that save< 


by \jm 


thickly grown with grasses. Here ihe ropers 
held a brief consultation and planned a final 

Loveless made a throw and the noose 
landed fairly above the beast '5 head, but the 
thick grasses held it up Loveless passed the 
other end of his rope over the branch of a 
tree and down to the hern of his saddle, 




The rest of us with the cameras trained on 
the scene had no knowledge of the plan, We 
had not the slightest idea what the Colonel 
intended to do. Still wondering, we watched 
him procure a long pole and ride quietly along 
the edge of the ditch toward the place where 
the lioness crouched 

For a moment there was intense silence. 
The Colonel stopped his horse. Then lean- 
ing over from his saddle he poked the noose 
down through the grass. 

With a roar the beast sprang at him— 
sprang through the loop— and at the other 
end of the rope Loveless yanked quickly and 
caught her by the last hind ley going through. 
Putting spurs to his horse, Loveless galloped 
away, hauling the lioness back across the 
gully and up into the tree, where she swung to 
and fro, dangling by theone hind foot and snap- 
ping upward at the rope she could not reach. 

*' Got her ! " yelled the Colonel. 

The beast was furious* She was still 

He dismounted and stood beneath her, 
directing affairs as methodically as the fore- 
man of a construction gang. 

"Steady, Means— a little more, Loveless 
— now together — easy^ J 

She came within his reach and, with a 
quick grab, he caught and held her two 
hind legs with both hands while Kearton 
bound them together with a piece of light lin<_:. 

The rest was easy. In less than five 
minutes she was bound securely and lowered 
to the ground to rest in the shade* 

It was nearly noon, and time to call a halt 
to let the heat of the day pass over before 
attempting to bring her back to camp. 
l'orters were sent to fetch food and more 
water, horses were off-saddled and turned 
loose to graze, and one by one the dogs 
came straggling in. 

The men stretched themselves out on the 
ground where a hush or a tree afforded some 
protection from the sun. But the Colonel 


swinging, head down like a pendulum, from 
the limb of the tree, and was tossing her 
body about in frantic endeavour to get loose. 
Means approached close and deftly slipped 
a noose over one of the wildly-gyrating fore- 
legs. Leading his rope over the branch of 
another tree he stretched her out in a help- 
less position, horizontal to the ground. 

" Now lower away on both lines," said the 

kept wandering over to the prize, to examine 
a knot, to arrange a better shade, or to pour 
the last drops of water from his canteen into 
her open mouth. Once he stood over her 
for a while, watching her vain attempts to 
cut the ropes with her teeth, 

" Yes, you're a beauty," he finally said. 
" You're certainly a beauty, I guess well 
just have to take you home with us as a 
souvenir of the trip." 

Our readers will he interested to know that the Cinematograph fftm of this hunt will 
be published by the Warwick Trading Ok, Ltd., of 1 13 5-7, Charing Cross Road, London, 
and will be on view at the Cinematograph Theatres throughout Europe. 

by K: 



Original from 

A Matter of Contract. 


Illustrated by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 


OW much is the bill?" 
asked Marriott from the 
: 1. 

4 * Three hundred and fifty 
three pounds/' answered his 
wife from the writing table. 
"The stone- merchant's tra 
veller is waiting m the dining-room now," 

" Pay him t " said the sick man- " Draw a 
cheque for the full amount/' 

Mrs, Marriott silently obeyed. Then, 
getting up, she brought him the book and 
pushed a pen into his outstretched hand, 
" Here," she said. w Sign here." 
And she guided the groping fingers as she 
spoke. When the wavering signature was 
cempieted she blotted it and tore the cheque 
from the book. 

"This makes the fourth 
application in a fortnight/ 1 
said the sick man, dully, 
"And the timber, brick, 
and cement accounts are 
still to come, Someone 
must be purposely setting 
rumours about. My credit 
— my reputation — has 
always stood so high— till 

Mrs, Marriott stooped 
swiftly and kissed his cheek, 
"It does still, darling, 
Besides, you are paying 
everyone in full. Remem- 
ber what Mr. Power at the 
bank told me the other day- 
Nothing but good can pos- 
sibly come of it in the end." 
Her voice was cheerful, 
even gay. But her face 
contradicted the spoken 
words, Anxiety and fear 
showed there, plain to see, 

She turned, her lips 
twitching, to the door. 

"1 must go and give the 
man his money," she said. 

But first she turned back 
and kissed her husband. 

When she was gone Marriott lay back 
with closed eyes His great Jove for her 
made his cross more hard. 

He was a son of Birmingham, a scion of 
progress, a sample of what, for good or ill, 
the most vigorous cities in the Empire send. 
He had once been a carpenter's apprentice. 
Today he was the foremost builder in a 
prosperous Midland town. 

Too pour to qualify as an architect, he had 
learned all that was needful of that profession 
in the after hours of his apprenticeship's days. 
On his twenty first birthday lie had set up as 
a carpenter in a cellar lighted by a grating. 
The cellar was both workshop and home* 
A litter of shavings served him as a bed. 

The great architect whose lectures he had 


by Google 

Original from 



attended— who saw in him a constructive 
genius lost — put trivial tasks in his way. 
Marriott did them well and swiftly; clamoured 
eagerly for more. The architect, proud of 
his proiige, helped him to bigger things. 
Presently he got a small contract. The 
architect stood at his back. Then Marriott 
migrated to Murcester, twenty miles away. 
In ten years he was building suburbs ; in 
fifteen he got his first municipal job. By 
the time he was forty he was a power in his 
little world. Then the black hour that comes 
once at least in each man's life came swiftly 
to stay his hand. 

There is an adage that what a man wants 
done well he must do himself. Like all 
adages it is only half true. So Marriott's 
breakdown proved. He had tried to do too 
much. He should have taken an experienced 
manager; instead of which he made a trusted 
foreman suffice. 

And, having worked fourteen hours a day 
for two decades, suddenly, without let or 
warning, he collapsed. His illness was 
neuritis in its most aggravated form. Upon 
it inflammation of the eyes supervened. For 
six months he was almost blind. He directed 
business from his bedroom. That business 
began steadily to decline. He lost contract 
upon contract, always to the same competing 
firm. Not wholly without reason. On the 
Town Council a relative of his rival sat. 

But there was a leakage somewhere. Of 
that Mrs. Marriott, silent, watchful, sus- 
picious—the secretary, the confidante of her 
husband always, in these dark days his very 
eyes and ears — was absolutely sure. Even 
the foeman on the Council could do nothing 
unless the rival firm's tenders equalled or 
undercut those that her husband sent in. 
And when they did undercut him it was only 
by a few dividing pounds. For Marriott's 
plant was the most modern in Murcester and 
his expenses were pared to the final masterly 
ounce. Given fair play, no one, she believed, 
could compete with him when it came to 
building on the grand, the really imposing 
scale. Yet, day after day, she saw him lie, 
impotent and despairing, in his bed. And 
the business that was his life's bood ebbed 
hourly and steadily away. 

Nothing — nothing that counted — was 
coming in. Everything — that meant any- 
thing — was going out. He could pay to the 
uttermost farthing ; the bank held fullest 
security for all that he had been allowed to 
overdraw. But when the uttermost farthing 
had been paid? There would be nothing 
left for him — or for the woman who had 

by Google 

helped him to succeed. If he died his wife 
would be penniless. How the thought stayed [ 
with and stung this proud, industrious, self- 
made, fate-confronting man ! 

She had helped him? How much, all 
Murcester guessed at ; he alone knew. In 
spite of the mischief that miscalled moderns 
make, duty and service, given willingly with 
both hands, flourish in England still ; above 
all in the provinces, which are the sole of 
the boot — and sane. 

Mrs. Marriott re-entered, carrying the 
receipted account. She put it into a drawer 
of the writing-table which stood at the foot 
of the bed and came round to her husband's 
side. She helped him into a sitting posture, 
smoothed out the pillows, reversed them, let 
him lie back. She did these things with 
great gentleness, this woman, in whom, 
though she had never had a child, the mother- 
ing instinct was, for all her business gift, so 
dominant, so ineradicable and strong. The 
sick man felt all that he might not see. And 
the green shade hid the tears that welled to 
his suffering eyes. 

"Gurney is here. You will see him — you 
will talk to him, I mean ? You feel equal to 
it, dear ? " 

"Equal? Of course, of course. The 
neuritis is gone. It's only a question of my 
eyes now and lying still, Minchin says. It's 
work— work and stimulus— that I want to 
put me right. If only I could get them I 
should be well in a month." 

" I know you would," said Mrs. Marriott, 
putting her hand in his. " And when we get 
this contract you won't have to worry any 
more. You'll be able to go away for a long 

" If we get it, yes. But we get nothing 
but disappointment now." 

The man's voice was almost a sob, and his 
hand groped for his wife's hand that met and 
held it fast. 

41 Darling, we shall get it. I know we shall. 
Cheer up and hear what Gurney has to say." 

The voice — the words were brave ; hut 
once more the face betrayed the misery that 
they strove to mask. Mercifully, most merci- 
fully, Marriott could only hear. And, hear- 
ing, he caught the courage that words and 
voice inspired. 

His wife rang the bell and set a chair at 
the bedside, facing the light. Then she went 
over to the desk and sat down. Her back 
was towards the window ; her face was in the 
shade. Before her grey-coloured, crinkling, 
oily-textured papers lay. They were the bills 
of quantities for the coveted work— for the 
Original from 



art gallery, whose contract would float the 
firm from the financial quicksands that held 
it high and dry. 

" I told Annie to bring up Gurney if I 
rang," she explained. As she spoke a knock 
sounded. " Come in," she called ; " come 
in ! " 

" Mr. Gurney, ma'am." 
And Gurney, the foreman, entered, carry- 
ing his hat. Big, burly, half-illiterate, but 
full of sheer horse-sense, he looked what he 
was — a splendid ganger, a born driver of 

" Good morning, ma'am. Good morning, 
Mr. Marriott. I hope you're going on well, 

Mrs. Marriott forced herself to smile. 
" I'm doing nicely, Gurney," said her hus- 
band. "Sit down by the bed." And he 
turned towards the visitor his drawn and 
pain- puckered face. 

"Any orders, sir?" asked the foreman. 
"Anything in by post?" For all letters 
came to the house now that Marriott was ill. 
His wife, once a schoolmistress, still most 
swift at figures and with pen, acted as secre- 
tary and as confidential clerk. 

" None, Gurney," answered his employer. 
" Nothing at all." 

" Except bills ! " interposed Mrs. Marriott, 
quietly. " There are plenty of those to-day." 
She spoke slowly ; she looked steadily at the 
huge, impassive face. 

Marriott set his teeth, stayed silent, then 
raised himself and turned on his side, speak- 
ing towards the listener on his right. 

" There's that tender, Gurney," he said at 

last "The art gallery one. Mrs. Marriott 

and I have been working at it for a week. 

We've cut and pared till we can cut and pare 

no more. No one but Sampson can touch 

us — in Murcester, that is ; and they never 

let these big things go out of the town. I 

can't see how he can get within ten thousand of 

our tender either. I reckon that's just what 

our new machinery saves. I don't see how 

he can have come within five per cent, of us 

these last half-dozen times with any profit at 

all. He must have dropped money over 

every job he's got since I've been laid up. 

A few more like them would smash him. 

But that we want work and money I wish 

he'd get this." 

Mrs. Marriott, sitting now with her elbows 
on the table, her chin between her hands, 
saw the foreman's jaw drop as if her 
husband's emphatic words had hammered 
some new thought into Gurney's slow-moving 
mind. But the foreman's voice was quite 

Digitized by dOOgle 

calm, and he answered in his usual heavy 

" He won't get this one. I reckon it's a 
cert. From what you told me yesterday 
we've got down to the bed-rock." 

Marriott, on his pillows, moved a little and 

"That's what we've done all the time, 
Gurney," he said, querulously. "But he 
equalled us or tendered less. And Arthur 
Richards, on the Council, did the rest." 

" Richards is gone now," said the foreman ; 
" this last election has done for him. We 
shall get fair play." 

" Unless we're under-tendered. That's the 
incredible part. Remember, Sampson has 
never been higher than we — always equal 
or less." And Marriott, lifting himself 
difficultly, leaned across, groped for, found, 
and touched the big man's sunburned wrist. 

" I suppose there is no leakage ?" he said, 
searchingly. "You've always delivered the 
tenders yourself— you never trusted them to 
anyone because you were overworked through 
my being away? It would be so easy for 
them to open an envelope and to stick it 

" Never, Mr. Marriott. I took the tenders 
in their sealed envelopes, just as Mrs. Marriott 
gave them me, and I've always been most 
careful to get a signature at the town hall. 
My book'll show that, if only you care to see." 

Marriott fell back on his pillows. His eyes 
ached under their friendly shade. "It's luck, 
then, sheer bad luck," he said, faintly; "a 
run of it that looks like never coming to an 
end. Better get back now, Gurney. I'm 
done ; I must have a rest." 

The foreman rose clumsily. Mrs. Marriott 
got up too. 

" I'll come down with you," she said, 
suddenly. " I'll come down and let you out." 

Gurney held open the door, clumping 
heavily after her down the thickly-carpeted 
stairs. At the front door he paused. 

" It'll come all right, mum," he said. " I'm 
sure we shall get the contract this journey. 
Then you'll see how fast the guv'nor'll go 

The moment for which Mrs. Marriott had 
contrived was at hand. Her heart was lead, 
and she hated herself for a plotter ; but it 
was a matter of life and death. So she 
laughed innocently, almost coquettishly, and 
the verbal arrow sped. 

" I'm afraid we're out of luck, Gurney," 
she said, confidingly. " It wants changing if 
we're to get better days. I'm awfully super- 
stitious, you know. And so" — she looked at 




him half-plaintive, half-quizzical — "so JTm 
going to be postman now. I'm going to 
deliver this tender myself." 

Then, very swiftly, she averted her eyes 
lest they should show what they had seen. 
For her shaft had gone home. Gurney had 
paled, and his cloaking answer came too late. 

"If anyone could change it, mum, you 
can. I hope the new postman'll bring 

His fingers found his forehead, and he 
hurried down the path. Mrs. Marriott ran 
quickly up the stairs. Tip-toeing into the 
room, she saw that her husband slept. Still 
tip-toeing, she went baok to her chair. 

She sat long and motionless, once more 
with her chin in her hand. 

Gurney was a traitor — she was sure, sure, 
sure — a rat who would find safe quarters, 
who would flee the sinking ship. He was in 
league with Sampson; it was to Sampson 
that he would look for employment when her 
husband's business failed. She knew it ; she 
was certain, positive, convinced. Proofs she 
had none. It was instinct — simply that. 
Gurney had opened the tenders that she had 
given him to deliver at the town hall. He 
had divulged them to Sampson ; perhaps 
even Sampson had copied figures and words. 

What could she do to stop it — to plug the 
leak — to save the sinking ship? True, she 
could deliver the tender with her own hands. 
Yet now that rumours of her husband's 
financial shakiness were abroad the Council 
might reject the tender, lowest though it 
should be. To tell her husband was useless. 
He was a strong and self-reliant man : like 
all strong and self-reliant men, easily deceived 
where once he had set his trust. To argue 
with him in his present state would be use- 
less — almost fatal. He would not hear 
unless she brought proofs. 

Unless she brought proofs. Unless — 

unless For a full hour she sat, striving 

to find a means. The day waned ; the room, 
save for the firelight, was dark. And that 
which she sought stayed always unfound. 

Presently her husband stirred, turned over 
again, lay for a little, turned again, and spoke. 

" Are you there, Mary ? " he asked, wearily. 

"Yes, dear, I'm here. Have you had a 
good nap ? " 

"Good? I don't know. I don't think so. 
I dreamed so much. It was so vivid, so 
plain. I was reading the Gazette and I saw 
my name — my name, Mary— after all these 
years of work. Oh, it was terrible ! I can 
see it still. It seems photographed on my 

by Google 

Mrs. Marriott cams across to him and took 
and held his hand. 

"Cheer up, dearest!" she said, fighting 
the sob in her throat " Cheer up ! We 
shall get this contract The pendulum will 
swing at last" 

Then, before he could answer, she had 
gone across to the bell. "We will have tea," 
she said ; " and after tea I will read to you 

The maid came in with the tray. Mrs. 
Marriott sat by the bedside, guiding the cup 
to the sick man's mouth. Then she lighted 
the lamp and began to read to him. The 
book was a Jacobs. Marriott's spirits 
revived ; he laughed merrily at the jokes. 
His wife read story after story. Yet all the 
time she was thinking of the unfindable means. 

"I must do something — do something," 
her subconscious voice goaded her. " It is 
cowardly; it is base not to struggle while a 
fraction of hope remains. If poverty comes 
to us, if the house, the furniture goes, it will 
be less hard to bear if I can think that I 
worked to the bitterest end. Gurney may 
beat me, but not without a fight." 

Gurney ! With the word a swift thought 
came — a desperate resolve took shape. She 
would go and see with her eyes what she saw 
now, unceasingly, with her brain. She would 
go — she would catch him, perhaps, red- 
handed, plotting with Sampson, compassing 
some devil's deed. That night — in an hour — 
she would visit the office with her husband's 
keys. Hazard — or Providence — might put 
some revealing correspondence, some con- 
vincing proof, in her way. Useless, most 
likely, the search — the visit. Well, for all 
that she would go. It would at least be 
action. Anything was better than waiting 
for the dib&cle to come. 

At a few minutes to six she ceased reading, 
smoothed out the pillows, and coaxed her 
husband into seeking sleep. 

"I must go into the town," she said. 
" There are things that I wish to buy. The 
maids will look after you. I will be as quick 
as I can." 

Then, veiling and cloaking herself quickly, 
she took his keys from the mantelpiece, 
set the electric bell-rope in his fingers, and 
went out. 

The tram took her within halt a mile of 
Marriott's yard. Ten minutes found her 
before its gates. All was darkness, but, 
fumbling for the lock, she found the gates 
give at her pressure. For some reason they 
were still unlocked. Her heart thumped 
and all her body shook. 
Original from 




She passed in quickly, pulling- to the gates. 
Thirty yards ahead of her a light shone. 
Someone was in the office, staying after 

11 I was right — I was right," she thought, 
exultantly. "It's Gurney and Sampson, 
Gumey is sell- 
ing Tom," 

she stepped 
forward, pick- 
ing up her 
skirts, going 
straight to- 
wards the 
light. It was 
as if she ran an 
obstacle race 
in the dark* 

On her right 
a vast stack of 
Her shoulder 
struck a pro- 
jecting beam. 
She staggered 
back, half- 
dazed, but 
quickly went 
on, feeling her 
way past. Only 
to stumble 
again. This 
time a layer of 
drain - pipes 
barred the 
way. Still she 
went forward, 
crossed them, 
ground once 
more. Then 
she splashed 
full into a bed 
of mortir, 
warm, sticky, 
fresh run. She 
plunged across 
it. She was be- 
fore the frosted 
window at last 
Gurney was 
there, alone. 

Through a little space where the foreman 
had scraped away the frosting to let him see, 
unseen, she saw him now. He was working 
under the light. A book was propped before 
him. Painfully, laboriously, he was copying 
something out. In a flash Mrs, Marriott 

Digitized by ^OOgle 


understood. It was her husband s book of 
quantities, on which, when he did not trust 
to his wonderful memory, all his tenders 
were based. She had compiled it, at his 
dictation, with her own hand. 

Gurney had somehow got to the safe, 

was copying 
the book that 
the copy might 
pass to Samp- 
son's care. In 
her zeal she 
had made this 
essential She 
had said that 
she was going, 
this time, to 
deliver the 
tender herself. 
Only by the 
copied book 
that Gurney 
would bring 
him could 
Sampson now 
estimate the 
tender that 
Marriott would 
send in, 

Mrs. Mar- 
riott waited, 
watch ing 
always, while 
the man 
worked* He 
wrote with 
labour. When 
he ceased only 
three pages 
were done. 
The watcher 
saw him re- 
place the origi- 
nal, lock it in 
the safe, put 
on his hat and 
coat, and walk 
beyond her 
vision to the 
door. Then 
the light died. 
The woman, 
crouching by the window, heard the gate 
closed. Then steps diminishing. Upon 
that the locking of the gates. 
She was alone in the yard. 
She found her key, opened the door, went 
in, at id switched on the Hght* Going to the 




safe she took out the book of quantities. 
She stood there, turning over its pages, driving 
her brain to thought. 

The thought came to her, chance or fate- 
impelled. And after it a laugh that echoed 
back to her from the building's metal roof. 
Gurney had devised his own undoing and 
with it Sampson's downfall, and the triumph 
of her husband's firm. She removed her 
hat, she let down her heavy, abundant hair. 
Then she took book and pen. For three 
hours she worked at breakneck speed. But 
her work was sure. 

And when she had finished she had 
traversed fifty -seven pages of manuscript, 
had obliterated the figures, had raised every 
item between five and ten per cent. 

Lead, lead- piping, red -deal tongue -and- 
grooved floorings, slates, bricks, oak panel- 
lings, cement, and stone — these and a 
hundred others — she raised the cost of them 
all, scratching out figures with a penknife, 
entering new, misleading ones in their place. 
The stove was cold ; the night was of a 
stinging bitterness ; but the fire of duty, as 
she conceived it, warmed her with its blaze. 
She worked on, on, till the task was finished, 
giving, as she had given all her lifetime, duty 
and service, playing, with all her heart and 
soul and strength, the game, as she under- 
stood it, for her side. 

And the prize was her husband's recovery, 
the regaining of health, of reputation, of all 
that counted to them in their two united 

The three pages that Gurney had copied 
she left alone. He was a fool when it came 
to pen and paper. He would think the 
amendments old ones ; of that she had never 
a doubt. It was a thousand, many thou- 
sands, to one that he would fall into the 
trap. Sampson would get the copy, would, 
in his need for undercutting, base his tender 
upon that As she thought of the total Mrs. 
Marriott laughed again. 

It was done at last. She bundled her hair 
together, put on her hat, replaced the book, 
hurried out of the door. As she turned to 
lock it she started back. In her haste, her 
eagerness, she had forgotten the light. She 
shuddered and went, for the first time, cold. 
To have achieved a master stroke, to have 
imperilled it thus ! Going into the office 
again, she touched off the switch ; she 
actually held it down for a minute to make 
sure. Then, coming out, she looked back 
fearfully to see if she had bungled her job. 

Satisfied at last, she locked and left the 
door. She went towards the gates carefully, 

Digitized by G< 

picking her difficult way. She locked them, 
passed out of the side street into the main 
road. There she found a cab. It was more 
than midnight when she reached her suburban 

A maid admitted her, wondering, sleepy- 

" Oh, mum, the master ! He's so anxious. 
He's been asking for you these three hours." 
And then, as her mistress hurried past her, 
the girl fairly gasped. " Oh, mum, your 
boots, your skirt, what a dreadful mess 
they're in ! " 

But Mrs. Marriott did not stop. " It's 
nothing, Maggie," she called. "I fell. 
That's all. Go to bed. I sha'n't want you 
again to-night." 

Then, as she reached the first-floor landing, 
she saw in front of her, slippered and dressing- 
gowned, the sick man. The shade was gone 
from his eyes. He was carrying it in his 

" Mary, where have you been ? " he asked, 
stumbling forward with uncertain steps. 
11 You've been away hours and hours — I 
couldn't stay in bed. I felt so nervous. I 
thought that something had happened to 
you. And your skirt, your boots are all 
muddy. Have you had a fall? Did you 
tumble in getting off a tram ? " 

"Cheer up, there's nothing the matter," 
said Mary his wife. "I'll tell you all that 
there is to tell." 

She took him by the arm and led him 
gently to his room. There she pushed him 
into a deep, chintz-clad chair. 

"Tom, I insist," she said, motheringly. 
His lips met the fingers that restored the 
shade to his eyes. 

She took off her hat, pulled up a footstool, 
sat down, leaning against his knee, taking his 
two thin hands in hers. 

"Tom," she began, "you said you wanted ' 
work and stimulus. I have brought you both. 
Gurney is a traitor ; he is in Sampson's pay. 
I found him to-night, at the office, copying 
out your book of quantities that he had 
managed, with a duplicate key, to get out of 
your private safe." 

" Yon found him! You!" 

The man strove to rise, but the woman 
pushed him back. 

" I found him. Yes. But so far he has 
only copied three pages. It will take him a 
fortnight to do the rest." 

Tom Marriott set his teeth. His wife 
heard the hiss of swiftly intaken breath. 

" The hound ! " he muttered. " After all that 
I've done for him. Oh, the contemptible cur ! " 




Then, suddenly, his force went, his head sank 
down upon his chest. 

" They are too many for us, Mary," he 
said, hopelessly. " We've put up a good 
fight, but we're beaten ; we're done. Even 
sacking Gurney won't bring us work. We 
must go under. There is nothing, absolutely 
nothing to be done." 

His wife's arms went round him, passionate, 
mothering, kind. 

" There is nothing to be done now," she 
agreed, " except to wait, because I have 
altered every item in the book of quantities 
— have made everything higher by five or 
ten per cent. Let Gurney take his copy to 
Sampson ; let Sampson base his tender upon 
that. Meantime we sail in winners — we cut 
the ground from Sampson's scheming feet. 
All that we need to do is to watch — to watch 
Gurney and to wait. Sampson is young ; he 
has small experience. He will be mystified — 
taken in. We shall sail in, I tell you. We 
shall undercut him — as he meant, with 
Gurney's help, to undercut us" And her 
words ended on a note of triumph, heart- 
issuing, rich, elate. 

" Mary ! What a — how magnificent — 

how fine of you ! I " 

The big boldness of it stopped, for a 
moment, Tom Marriott's breath. Then the 
full splendour of his wife's scheme caught 
hold of him, stirred him into eagerness and 
strength. Craft had been opposed to craft ; 
they would fight their foemen with the 
weapons their foemen had picked. And he 
— he and Mary — would triumph in the end. 

He stooped down, his arms about her, he 

drew her to him, holding her tight and close. 

44 You made me — you'll save me ! " he 

exulted. u We shall win, darling ; we shall 

win after all." 

Long, long, in their great sympathy, in 
their tremendous sense of partnership, helped 
by the certainty that they both travelled — not 
alone, but a " firm," if ever a firm had been — 
allies of head and soul, towards the same goal, 
by the same undeviaiing road, they sat by the 
red and heartening blaze. From the talk 
Marriott drew no harm — stimulus and hope, 
hope and stimulus ; these things were better 
than all the medicines in the world. And 
the knowledge that it was his wife who had 
done this great, this saving deed, thrilled him 
and made him infinitely proud. No qualm, 
no doubt assailed him as it might have assailed 
a softer, more sensitive, gentler-nurtured man. 
According to his code, she was magnificent ; 
business people fight— and the world knows 
it_with sharp, unbuttoned foils. All have 


the morals of their like. By their like should 
the Marriotts be judged. 

So, then, the sick man drew no harm. 
The load was gone. For the moment even 
Gurney was forgot. The contract would come 
to them ; the all-but-certainty was salvation 
§md life. When Marriott slept it was dream- 
lessly. His wife was astir at dawn. The post 
brought bills for him She opened them ; 
she hid them away. They could wait ; and 
Tom must, at all costs, be kept cheered. 

For the foreman would come that afternoon. 
Tom must be braced and buoyed to play his 
part. It would be hard for him — desperately 
hard. Acting comes most uneasily to plain 
and commonplace folk. 

But before noon the maid knocked, enter- 
ing at their call. 

11 Mr. Gurney is downstairs, ma'am. He 
says he must see the master at once. It's 
something that's most important — something 
that can't wait." 

Marriott snatched away his shade, looked 
swiftly at his wife. She nodded. It was as 
if she said loudly, " Gurney has found out 
something. He knows" 

Then her look changed to a question. It 
was answered by Marriott's answer to the maid. 

" I will see him. Bring him up at once." 

The maid went out. Mrs. Marriott came 
hurriedly across the room. 

44 Tom, I must have blundered. I must 
have left some trace. Gurney must know 
that I went there. Oh, to have gone so close 
— to have so hopelessly, utterly failed ! Can 
you ever forgive me, dear ? " 

Marriott faced her with a little exclamation, 
half protest and half laugh. 4< Dearest," he 
said, 44 you did your best You fought an 
uphill fight. You've failed through no fault 
of your own." 

44 Mr, Gurney, ma'am ! " 

The foreman was very pale, and perspiration 
beaded his cheeks. His usually stolid face 
was all a-twitch. It was as if he had sus- 
tained — was still suffering from — some fierce 
surprise or shock. 

Marriott glanced at his wife. She glanced 
back ; then hurriedly averted her eyes. It 
was the husband who spoke first. 

44 What is it, Gurney?" he asked. And, 
waiting for the answer, he gripped the cover- 
ing clothes. 

44 Sampson, sir— Sampson," blurted the 
foreman. 44 It's all over, sir. He's failed." 

44 What?" 

The word leapt from the pair of them in a 
breath, while Mrs. Marriott held the bed-post 



" Yes, sir ; he's spouted He's done. 
He's gone, and his works are closed. They 
say half the town's let in." 

For a space the room was silent ; then 
Mrs. Marriott laughed hysterically. Marriott 
raised a warning hand. He was quite calm, 
through triumph surged in his breast 

"And the cause, Gumey? What is the 

Gurney, before answering, mopped his 
dripping face. 

"It's undercutting you 7 sin He went too 
low. He tried to smash you — he couldn't 
stand the racket, and failed. Those contracts 
finished him, You've won, sir, on the post 
No builder in Murcester can compete with 
you now." 

Marriott nodded, lay back a little with 
half-shut eyes. Then he raised himself. 

11 1 suppose, now, you'll want to be staying 
with us?" There was a wealth of delicate 
intention in his tone. 

I mean that now the ship isn't going to sink 
the rat would like to stop," 

The other strove to answer, failed 1 anient - 
ably, stood there mouthing and dumb. Then 
his master struck out straight, 

" I know everything, Gurney* I know how 
you opened my tenders and gave Sampson 
their price, You thought I was going under, 
so you made yourself safe with him I " 

Gurney, struggling desperately, managed 
to find voice, 

" It's false ! it's false ! " he cried " I told 
Sampson nothing. Someone has been telling 
you lies/ r 

Marriott waved a contradictory hand. 

iL Then why did you copy three pages of 
my book of quantities last night, Gurney ? 
Why did you open my safe with a key which 
you had no business to possess ? M 

The man stood speechless, Marriott im- 
placably pursued 

" My wife watched you. She saw all that 


Gurney flushed, hesitated, stammered, you did. Come, give me the key; it's in 

twisting his cap, your pocket now." 

"Stay with you, sir? I— I— I'm afraid I The foreman hesitated, his slow mind 

don't understand" weighing the chances of falsehood and truth. 

His employer laughed "Perhaps not," Presently he put his hand into his pocket and 

he conceded, (I Let me make things plain, took out the key. 

*rtrtri| ■ Originaffrom 




" Thank you/' said Marriott He took it, 
turning it over in his hands, 

" It would be interesting to hear further why 
you tried to sell me, Gurney," he went on. 
Si I should immensely like to know, I've 
never done you any harm." 

** I've children— and a wife, I thought 

you'll ever try your tricks again. And, under 
a good manager, I'll take good care you 
don't get the chance- Now get. If you say 
a single word it's the sack. Get, man, I tell 
you — get ! ,J 

As the door closed upon the foreman Mrs. 
Marriott ran to the bedside, caught her 

E I'M PROUt), TOO,' HE ANSWERED. *TH1£ proudest man that ever was,' 

you were going under. And a man must live. 
Now they'll starve. I shall never get another 

11 And don't deserve to. I -" 

" Hush, dear ! " interrupted Marriott, 
quickly. " Leave this to me." 

He sat bolt upright now, furrowing his 

brows, The room was silent, save for the 

clock's faint tick and the shuffle-shuffle of the 

foreman's restless feet. At last Gumey turned 

and lumbered heavily to the door. 

" Stop : " cried Marriott, " Stop ! " 

The man faced him, sullen, dejected, limp. 

*TU keep you," said his master, speaking 

in sharp, staccato tones. "You're useful. 

You Ye the best ganger I ever knew. As you 

say, a man must live. And I suppose the 

temptation was pretty strong. I don't think 

husband's hands, and, stooping over him, 
kissed him on the lips. 

"Ah, but you did rightly, Tom," she said. 
" I was wrong to say what I did. And you're 
big, too — big, big, big. You make me very 
proud. No other man in Murcester could 
have done that." 

"Oh, I don't know," shrugged her husband. 
Then his arm found and kept her waist. 

"I'm proud, too, 5 ' he answered. "The 
proudest man that ever was. There isn't a 
woman living who has helped a man more 
than you've helped me." 

"That's as it should be," said Mrs. 
Marriott, tearfully, but very happily. " If 
you really love me you'll get that manager 
immediately, lake a long holiday, and come 
away and get well at the sea," 

by Google 

Original from 

An Academy for \Vaiters. 


S it not to be expected that, 
in these days, all our actions 
and callings in life should 
become regulated by science? 
We cannot bring back the 
system of apprenticeship, but 
we can realise that the old 
haphazard methods are unprofitable, and that 
if a man, from king to costermonger, wants 
to succeed he must know his business. 

Bearing this in mind, we may ask, then : 
"What is the most important calling in the 
world ? " " That of cook/ 1 answered Lord 
Lytton ; and after the cook speeds the waiter. 
41 Good service/ 1 declares the proverb, "is a 
great enchantment"; and also, "A good 
dinner may be spoilt in the serving." Civil- 
ized man looks to the waiter for the real 
blessings of life. 

He may live without love — 

what is passion but grieving ? 
He may live without hope— what 

is hope but deceiving? 
He may live without books— what 

is knowledge but pining? 
But where is the man who can 

live without dining ? 

To which Lord Houghton 
added : — 

Who brings him his dinner, 
then, surely is greater 

Than pnet or preacher ; and 
such is the waiter. 

All the world loves a 
waiter, we are told, and a 
recent American writer 
actually attributes much of 
Dickens's popularity not 
merely because there is so 
much eating and drinking 
in his novels as because 
there are so many waiters. 
41 Find me a chapter in 
Dickens through whose 
pages there is no waiter 
slipping in and out, where 
Mr. Weller, senior t fails to 
rail for a double glass of the 

Digitized by \^i O 

inwariable, and there is no such incident 
as this : — 

" ' Here, waiter ! J shouted the stranger, 
ringing the bell with tremendous violeuee, 
* glasses all around — brandy and water, hot 
and strong, and sweet and plenty ! ' " 

And there are the public dinners, where 
the waiters lose their serenity and "tureens 
of soup are emptied with awful rapidity, 
waiters take plates of turbot away to get 
lobster sauce, and bring back plates of lobster 
sauce without turbot/ J and the sacerdotal 
function of the waiter is interrupted by 
s[>eech making individuals. Nor do we for- 
get that in one of Dickens's stories the waiter 
comes from a long line of waiters ; he boasts 
five brothers who are all practitioners of the 
art, and whose only sister is a waitress, 
"You Never Can Tell if is, 
perhaps, the pleasantest of 
Mr, Shaw's comedies, be- 
cause of dear old " William/' 
a far more lovable per- 
sonage than his son, the 

It may be that a good 
waiter is born, not made ; 
but training has a gaud 
deal to do with it. The 
chief professor of ihe art 
of waiting in London hns 
publicly stated the five 
necessary qualifications for 
the perfect waiter, as 
follows :— 

1, The patience of Job. 

2, The wisdnm of Solomon* 

3, The w it of a diplomat, 

4, The skill of an artist. 

5, The bearing of a prince* 

Probably not even Mr. 
Charles Hawtrey as the 
waiter in "Jack Straw" 
would quite pretend to all 
these virtues* and the perfect 
servitor would certainly not 
be content to serve long 
without promotion to 



2 9 

managership and even proprietorship. But 
in the Metropolis there are three schools 
for waiters which attempt to teach the 
rudiments of what is f on fche whole, a 
difficult and not unremunerative art, and 
to one of these academies the writer recently 
paid a visit. 

In a long room occupied by 
three square tables, with a mirror 
at one end and a pair of haize- 
covered push-doors at the other, 
a group of eleven young men are 
listening to the exhortations of 
a professor. 

"The first thing you've got to 
do is to be clean/ 1 he says ; " the 
second thing is to be quick, and 
the third thing is to be graceful. 
By graceful I don't mean you've 
got to imitate the Apollo Belve- 
dere or a dancing - master, but 
you mustn't be awkward in your 
movements. And you've got to 
have a good memory. There 's 
nothing annoys a customer 
so much as a waiter saying 
he 'forgot/ Accident^ of course, 
will happen in a rush of busi- 
ness, and it may be necessary 
for you to cover up your for get- 
fulness. In that case say * Com 
ing, sir ! ' or l One moment, sir ! ' " 
Here the professor illustrated the 
phrases with a bow. 


"And now, gents, if you'll give me your 
attention, we'll begin at the beginning— 
table-laying." 1 Forthwith a cloth was pro- 
duced and, with the assistance of a pupil, a 
demonstration given of how a table should 
be laid— plates, knives, forks, and glasses, 
bread, salt, napkin, and the rest. 

"There are as many ways of folding napkins 
as there are of cooking eggs— namely, seven 
hundred and fourteen ; but the leading ways 
recommended in the best English houses are 
these," Here the professor slowly performed 
several simple feats in napkin-folding, after 
which he proceeded : — 

" We now, with our kind friend's assistance, 
assume that a diner has sat down. Now, of 
course, I needn't tell you that diners are of 
five kinds : — 

1, Private diners, 

2, Club diners, 

3, Rem u rant diners, 
4* Chop-house diners, 
5. Public diners,, 

each of which has to have rather different 
treatment. We'll begin this morning with 
restaurant diners. The customer arrives. If 
he hasn't been previously to the cloak-room, 
which in this class is probable, you must 
bow— like this — and take his hat, coat, and 
umbrella, and, placing them on a chair for a 
moment, help him to be seated and hand 

"thick or clear soup, sir?" 



3 C 




him the menu* While he is studying the 
menu you dispose of his hat and coat and 
return, taking up your position on his right — 
like this." 

According to the professor, there is much 
virtue in an attitude. 

" The exact pose you ought to assume in 
various circumstances is not to be learnt in a 
day, A year's study will hardly do it + I 
know one waiter at Brooks's Club who has 
made it the special study oF a lifetime. The 
poses of one waiter at a certain private hotel 
in the West end make a diner forget when 
the soup is cold or the ices hot. He is so 
dignified that he actually takes his tip with 
his back to the customer — 
quite an extinct fashion. 
We will pass over this, then, 
for the present, merely 
mentioning that you stand 
like this : one hand in front 
— so; the other behind— 
so; head bent forward, eye- 
brows raised- Don't he 
afraid of raising your eye- 
brows. The picture, gents, 
might be entitled ' Wait- 
ing/ It is the attitude of 
expectancy — a readiness to 
serve — and first gave rise 
to the term * waiter/ In 
Shakespeare's time we were 
called servers and drawers, 
and people were in such 
a blessed hurry with their 

Digitized by Oo 

vie " — the professor coughed slightly 

behind his upraised palm — "gastronomic 
arrangements that there was no time to wait. 

" Is the dinner table d'hote or a la carte ? 
If it is table d*kofe f after serving the hor-s 
d*muvres you ask, 'Thick or clear soup, 
sir?' Never try to be original. There's 
no room for originality in our vocation. What 
we do is the evolution of centuries — conduct 
in its relation to the inner man. I once knew 
a waiter who invariably asked, l Clear or 
thick, sir? 1 but it put the customer off his 
feed at once. Suppose the customer asks 
you what Potage a la St Germain js, you 
tell him, because you have previously asked 
the head waiter what it is. You always get 
the menu translated beforehand — that is, if 
you don't happen to know * chefs 1 French ' 

" When the order is given you say * Very 
good, sir/ with a slight bow, and go off with 
your tray, like this," 

This is followed by a lesson in tray carrying. 
Until they hear the professor on the subject 
it is certain the class never suspected there 
was so much in carrying a tray, " The way 
in which he handles his tray always gives a 
bad waiter away. You handle a tray in 
different ways for soup, for entrees, joint, or 
sweet, but you always hold a tray up; like 
this — with the ability to make it go as high as 
possible. Always remember there is dignity 
in carrying a tray high, as well as level If 
you do away with dignity, you do away with 
style, and style is good service, and good 
service is more than half the dinner* Try 
and remember that." \ 

At a later stage the professor gave some 
lessons in tray-loading and tray carrying 


I I >_| 1 1 I >.i I i i ■_« 




which were very edifying. He explained 
that where a number of waiters were passing 
and repassing it was necessary, to avoid 
collisions, that trays should be carried at 
different levels, and illustrated this by four 
trays in the hands of four bearers. 

" And remember this/ 1 he added, im- 
pressively ; li the actual amount or number of 
dishes on the tray doesn't regulate the way 
you carry it You bring in a small dish of 
olives or a patted shrimp just exactly as if 
you were carrying John the Baptist's head on 
a charger, 

" Clearing away should be done from the 

careful of your thumb. A thumb inside a 
dish— especially soup — is nearly always fatal 
But it can be done without attracting atten- 
tion, only that belongs to hypnotism and 
takes years and years to acquire," 

At this point the elementary class is dis- 
missed to make way for another set of 
budding servitors who were learning the art 
of quick table clearing. The practice to an 
onlooker savoured very much of legerdemain. 
Plates were piled up and set down by the 
score* piled up and set down again, each 
one in turn striving to achieve the feat more 
quickly and more noiselessly than his pre 





left quickly' and silently, Never reach your 
arm in front of a customer. I remember a 
waiter who did that once at Simpson's, and a 
hot tempered old Indian colonel stabbed him 
with a fork. The waiter complained to 
Simpson, and Simpson said he ought to 
consider himself lucky that the colonel 
hadn't killed him. If you must reach things 
in front, do so from the side or from on top, 
quick — like this. There's a way of doing it 
so that the customer doesn't even know 
it's done. And that's one secret of 
waiting. It is to handle things, to handle 
dishes, without seeming to handle them. Be 

by L^OOgle 

decessor. Plates and dishes with dummy 
viands upon them, in the form of stale rolls, 
were carried by twos and threes and finally by 
half dozens, and even by dozens, once the 
length of the room and back again, and 
deposited in a more or less horizontal posi- 
tion in front of the professor, who, for once, 
impersonated the fastidious banqueter 

Then came a demonstration in crumb- 
brushing, Incidentally the professor cast a 
light upon the difference between Continental 
and English dining-room arrangements. "In 
a restyrong," he remarked, "you call them 
serviettes j in a club or private hotel you call 




them napkins. Only 

there's no occasion to 

call them anything — 

remember that. Be 

careful how you talk too 

much. Remember, 

you are not a barber. 

There's one phrase that 

will carry you through 

nearly everything. It 

is, ' Very good, sir. 1 

Only don't overdo iL 

Never dispute with a 

customer and never 

laugh at his jokes, 

especially towards the 

close of the repast A 

smile is sufficient. 

Always keep your eye 

on the diner's needs and 

try to anticipate his 

wants. That is another 

great secret The custo- 
mer appreciates that. 

If he is dining alone, 

ten to one he will not 

like to be stared at, 

and you must stand off at some distance and 

watch every item he is negotiating, so that 

you can replenish, gents, or clear." 

There were various other demonstrations, 

such as that in 
wine - pouring* 
First came a 
lesson in the 
order — sherry, 
hock, claret, 
liqueurs, and 
port ; then the 
distinction in the 
various glasses ; 
then the actual 
pouring from the 
bottle a gnictr- 
fal and yet, as 
the professor 
showed, a solemn 
and portentous 
rite. There were 
many other 
points noticed, 
much advice 
tendered, and 

"In spite of 
accidents will 


by L^OOgle 

happen, such as spilling 
soup down a diner's 
neck. A good deal 
depends upon the diner ; 
but, if the waiter is wise, 
he will not attempt to 
apologize. He will dis- 
appear instantly t osten- 
sibly for the purpose of 
calling assistance, and 
let his place be taken 
by another," 

One can quite under- 
stand that the presence 
of the blundering Gany- 
mede would exert a 
maleficent effect upon 
that particular diner's 
temper and appetite for 
the remainder of the 

" Then there's the 
question of tipping. If 
you wish it to be seen 
that you are disappointed 
with your tip, you don't 
do it by a rude scow T l. 
There's a way of letting a customer know 
you are disappointed. You convey a mild 
reproach and yet a desire to please on the 
next opportunity, which he won't forget." 

These acade- 
mies for waiters 
promise to be- 
come popular, 
in view of the 
demand for well- 
trained English 
waiters, " Our 
idea," says Mr. 
Lang, the princi- 
pal of the Strand 
Waiters' Aca- 
demy, "is to 
train Englishmen 
in the art — and 
it is an art— of 
waiting at table, 
and to offer such 
education in 
restaurant work 
that many un- 
employed young 
men will be able 
to earn good 
livings in what 
I may call an 
ancient and his- 
toric calling. 




Many of our pupils are London clerks, who 
find a waiter's work more lucrative than many 
a c genteel ' occupation." 

It is interesting to find that in this school, 
and in another presided over by Mr. George 
Montagu, French is thoroughly taught, and 
that the training includes a complete course 
of instruction of the pupil. During the 
day he will be constantly under the eye 
of his instructor ; he will be taught to 
clean silver, wash and wipe glasses, shown 
how to handle the glass in a way which 
renders it least liable to breakage, and to carry 
a dish — w r hich may seem easy, but to the 
initiated there is a right and a wrong way, 
and woe betide 
him should he 
bring it in the 
latter. Tray carry- 
ing will be prac- 
tised, which is 
quite an art, and a 
heavy tray handled 
in the approved 
method is made 
easy to carry. He 
will be taught how 
to take a bottle of 
precious wine from 
the bin, in the 
manner least likely 
to disturb its con- 
tents. By being 
willing and agree- 
able, he will learn 
from his elders 
how to compose 
a meal not only 
perfect from its 
nutritive qualities, 

but that also, from the colours of the viands 
chosen, will, in its composition, appeal alike 
to the eye and appetite. He will note that 
a white soup must not be followed by a fish 
served with white sauce, but must tax his 
ingenuity to vary the whole menu. How to 
clear a champagne bottle of all string and 
wire with two movements will be a feat he 
must soon learn to accomplish, or be dubbed 
a " shoemaker." 

Many of the exercises can be practised at 
home, such as wine-pouring in the presence 
of a critical dummy composed of a chair, 
a jacket, and a cap. 

At another school the training of messenger- 
boys to become waiters is about to be under- 

taken. The difficulty of obtaining anything 
like a needful supply of really good English 
waiters has long been the complaint of 
managers. It must be confessed that, while 
some thirty thousand foreigners are able to 
make a lucrative career of waiting in this 
country, English waiters are in a great 
minority. Can it be that Englishmen are 
"ashamed of being waiters"? Possibly this 
is a reason for the scarcity of English 
waiters. But there is another, and a better 
one. For, while a French or German 
waiter starts at the bottom rung of the 
ladder at the age of fifteen, and during all 
his youth is thoroughly and systematically 

trained for the 
profession, it is the 
usual custom for 
an Englishman to 
make an attempt 
to earn a living in 
other capacities 
before he can 
bring himself to 
put on the dress 
of a waiter. 

There is a differ- 
ence, too, between 
the English boy 
and the French or 
German boy. The 
foreigner knows 
that if he is to 
succeed he must 
put his whole 
soul into the 
work, and must 
not hope to make 
restrictions as to 
working hours. 
But the English boy is very seldom willing 
to sacrifice any of the liberty he so 
dearly loves ; he works during a minimum 
amount of hours ; and he wonders why 
he fails to learn the business. If, how- 
ever, he chooses to give up his whole time 
to making himself proficient in the art of 
waiting, there is no height in the profession 
to which he may not rise. If he has also 
gained experience on the Continent he has 
even less difficulty in getting an appoint- 
ment, and often has the choice of remaining 
at home or going abroad. So may he, 
perhaps, give the lie to the assertion that an 
English waiter is in a class far inferior to that 
of his foreign confrire, 


Vol. xll-5. 

by Google 

Original from 



Illustrated ty W. R. S. Stott. 

DO think that it's very 
hard on us," said Cassie 
Kingwood in confidentially 
plaintive tones to Mrs. 
Barton, as they sat together 
on the grass terrace that 
sloped down to the Rectory 
rose-garden, not so remote from the tennis- 
lawn as to make it impossible for them to 
hear the latest score called out by the players. 
u I say it is very hard on us. I can't for the 
life of me form more than the most distant 
friendship with the heavenly bodies." 

" And your father objects to your forming 
any closer with the earthly ? ,J said Mrs. 

41 Yes, that is what I complain of," said 
Cassie — her full name was Cassiopeia : she 
had been called after the constellation of 
* b The Lady in the Chair," " He shuts him- 
self up in his horrid observatory night after 
night — even Sundays." 

" What— even Sundays?" 

" Hv doesn't mind. He calls it his 'place 
of worship.' Just think of it! An old 
observatory ! He will not allow anyone 
to enter it with a duster or anything. You 
should see his hands w T hen he comes out — 
and the smudgmess of the papers with his 
foolish calculations ! '* 

H Not foolish, my dear girl — you can't call 
them foolish. Everybody knows that your 
father is one of the foremost astronomers £>f 
the day — or perhaps I should say of the 

M But what good does his astronomy do 
to anyone? What good does it do to his 
daughters, Annie and me? I don't mind so 
much about myself; I am quite content to 
be an old maid and look after him for the 
rest of my hfe^ but poor Annie— I think it's 
very hard on her. The poor child is naturally 
fond of gaiety— such gaiety as is within our 




reach here ; and, besides, she is an attractive 
girl, and should have her chance." 

"She should. You are both attractive 

girls, and should both By the way, is 

it to your sister that Captain Sedgwick is so 
obviously attracted ? " 

Miss Ring woods face became suffused 
with the delicate pink of one of the La France 
roses in the bed at the foot of the terrace. 
She did not reply immediately — at least not 
in words, for she seemed to have some diffi- 
culty in finding the right words ; but even il 
Mrs. Barton bad been a less observant lady 
than she was, she would have needed no 
more explicit reply than was suggested by 
that La France flush. 

tl Do you really think that Captain 

Sedgwick ,s began Cassie, looking at the 

tips of her fingers. " Do you really ?*' 

u Forgive me for asking you such a foolish 
— such an impertinent question, my dear,'' 
said Mrs. Barton. " What was on my mind 
was that although you are on the shady side 
of twenty -I think you told me that you 
were actually twenty- two " 

"Twenty-two in February," 

"That makes you twenty-two and a half. 
But even this weight of years may not pre- 
vent the possibility of your finding favour in 
the sight of someone ; in fact, there are some 
men who find a certain charm in advanced 

maturity, so that Oh, never mind ; 

I quite agree with you that it is very hard 
that two such girls as you are should be cut 
off from all association with terrestrial objects 
because your father allows himself to be 
absorbed in the study of the celestial." 

" I knew that you would be sympathetic, 
Mrs. Barton," cried the girl t! You see, Mrs. 
Weston, though extremely nice and very 
kind, has never been about much, and she 
could not understand that we have a grievance 
—a sort of grievance— l>eca use father will 

Original from 




not let us ask anyone to our house. She 
would only say, 'Why should a couple of 
girls be socager to entertain?' and all that. 
But you who know how we are placed — I 
knew that you would listen patiently to my 

M You were quite right to confide in me, 
dear," said Mrs. Barton. " I am sure you saw 
how interested I was in you all from the 
first moment that I came here. I was greatly 

a desire to assist you if I could. That is why 
I led you on to confide in me as you have 
done just now. I can't say that I am 
prepared to offer you any suggestion just at 
this moment, but when I give my attention 
to the situation- — — Oh, here comes Captain 
Sedgwick. Victorious again, as usual, I 
suppose, Captain Sedgwick ? " 

11 By the aid of some marvellous luck and 
a steady partner/' said Captain Sedgwick, 



interested indeed, and when I saw how 
things were situated — how your father was so 
absorbed in his astronomy that he did not 
allow himselho give a thought to his daughters 
and their prospects— I could not help having 

. gitizedbyt-OOgle 

He was a tall, slender man of perhaps a year 
or two under thirty, and was unmistakahly 
a gunner. 

He squatted down on the terrace at the 
feet of Mrs. Barton nnd never so much as 




glanced at Cassie. All his attention seemed 
to be concentrated on digging up a weed 
with the rim of his racket. 

" How did the game go ? " asked Mrs. 
Barton. " Did Mr. Pryor and his partner 
do anything at all?" 

" They had rotten luck," he replied. 

u That means six games to love ? " said she. 

" They should have won the second," said 
he. " Oh, they had rotten luck." 

" I suppose it was Annie who pulled you 
through ? " remarked Cassie. It was her 
sister Annie (her full name was Andromeda : 
she was called after the constellation) who 
had been Captain Sedgwick's partner. 

"Altogether," he replied. "She never 
made a mistake. Who are they shouting 
for? I expect it's you, Miss Ringwood." 

"I fancy it is," she said, getting to her 
feet and looking in the direction of the net. 
" Oh, yes ; they are waving to me. I see 
that Bertie wants a partner." 

She ran off towards Bertram Weston, the 
Rector's young son, who was waving to her. 

Captain Sedgwick followed her, but with 
his eyes only. He showed no eagerness to 
stir. He was feeling in his pockets for his 

" Charming girls, the Ringwoods," sug- 
gested Mrs. Barton, after an interval. 

Her remark was successful in getting from 
him an acquiescent mumble. 

" I'm afraid they haven't a particularly good 
time of it," she was encouraged to say. And 
she saw that he had become interested in a 

" Why shouldn't they have a good time ? " 
he asked. 

11 It's rather a handicap for two nice girls 
like them to have a clever father," she said. 

" I don't see that it matters much," said 
he. " There are plenty of nonentities in the 
father line in this neighbourhood, aren't 

" Oh, plenty, goodness knows ! " she cried. 
" But the cleverness that takes the form of 
shutting oneself up in a musty old observa- 
tory with a lot of rusty old telescopes is the 
most objectionable." 

" Is it ? Of course, you know. But it 
seems to me that it doesn't do anybody any 
harm. It's not as if he were a Socialist or a 
male Suffragette, or a street preacher. An 
astronomer doesn't do any harm to anybody. 
Nobody's hurt if he discovers things a 
hundred million miles away t " 

" If anyone had told me twenty-five years 
ago that Wilfred Ringwood would turn out 
like that I should have laughed/' 

by L^OOgle 

There was a certain pensive note in her 
voice that matched the far-away look in 
her eyes at that moment. 

" Did you know him before you came 
here ? " asked Captain Sedgwick. " You're 
not old enough to remember anybody twenty- 
five years ago." 

" I may not look it ; but I am, all the 
same," said she, regretfully. " It is close 
upon twenty-four years since we parted." 

" What ? It came to that — it actually 
came to that— you parted ? " 

11 Yes, it was actually as serious as that. 
Of course, he knows nothing that goes on 
beneath the stars ; he has no notion that I 
am here. Even if he heard of it, it might 
mean nothing to him. I have often 

wished But what is the good of 


The pensive note in her voice was almost 
becoming a sentimental one. She certainly 
sighed when she had made that well-founded 
remark regarding the futility of wishing for 
some undefined eventuality. 

"Have you given either of the girls a 
hint ? " asked the man on the grass. 

"Not yet. But we have become very 
friendly. You can now understand the 
interest I take in them." 

He nodded. He felt that it was the 
easiest thing in the world to take an interest 
in them. He took a certain amount of 
interest in at least one of them himself. 

" You have never met the father, I 
suppose ? " said she. 

" Has anyone not connected with the 
astronomical industry?" he inquired. 

She sighed. 

" That's the sad part of the affair ; he is 
a hermit" 

" And hermetically sealed at that." 

" He cannot see that he is behaving 
unfairly to his daughters, not letting them 
have anyone to their house, and forbidding 
them to go anywhere except to the rectory. 
Fancy two nice girls like that shut up in a 
gloomy old house with an observatory 
attached ! Oh, we must devise some means 
of emancipating them. We must force him 
to behave rationally. I believe that their 
dining-room is forty feet long, and with a 
polished oak floor. Fancy such a room for 
a dance going to waste ! " 

" And you intend to begin with a dance ? 

Don't you think it would be wiser to start 

operations with a Sunday lunch — something 

simple — usual — roast beef and horse-radish— 

a nice crisp lettuce?" 

She laughed. 

Original from 




" What you gunners call * shelling the 
outposts ' ? " she said " Well, perhaps it 
might be as well to keep the dance in 
reserve ; but How long does your 

leave last?" 

" Four months still," he replied. " But I 
can't see that my leave has anything 

to do " 

" Then the sooner you see it the better 
it will be for yourself," cried the lady. 

She spoke so decisively that he was actually 
startled, though it took a good deal to startle 
him. There was on his face the look of the 
man who is asking himself, " How much does 
she know ? " 

But before he could make up his mind on 
this point, the Rector, who was prowling 
around to see that none of his guests evaded 
his hospitality, hurried up the terrace steps to 
ask Mrs. Barton if she was quite sure that 
she had had tea. He himself was quite sure 
that Captain Sedgwick had not, so he 
shepherded him to the table in the shade of 
the elm where Mrs. Weston dispensed tea 
and cake. 

It was quite a small tennis party, but the 
Rector and his wife were wise enough never 
to attempt anything on a large scale, and the 
result was that every function that took place 
in the Rectory garden was a success. 

At any rate, Cassie Ringwood, walking 
homeward with her sister and Mrs. Cardew, 
of The Cedars, an hour after Captain 
Sedgwick had had his second cup of tea, was 
certain that the party had been a delightful 
one. She had not had a previous chance of 
putting her grievance before a stranger — a 
comparative stranger— and she felt the better 
for having confided in Mrs. Barton as she 
had done on the subject of her father's strict- 
ness and inconsiderateness. She had an 
instinct that Mrs. Barton would be able to 
help her in her attempt to break down her 
father's prejudices against entertaining and 
being entertained. She knew that Mrs. 
Barton, who had come to live in the 
neighbourhood in the spring, was the widow 
of a distinguished officer in the Army, and 
having spent several years in India she 
was, Cassie felt assured, capable of grappling 
with an unusual and delicate problem. That 
was why she had allowed herself, with a little 
tactful encouragement from the lady, to tell 
her how she felt it to be a great hardship 
that her father would not behave as ordinary 
fathers behaved when left with two daughters 
of the ages of herself and her sister Andro- 
meda ; hut devoted his life to astronomical 
research, refusing all the invitations that 

Digitized by Google 

came to himself and his daughters from the 
hospitable families of Mallinghurst, and re- 
fusing to allow the girls to make some 
attempt to return the social amenities of the 
friendly people. She felt that if this hand- 
some and self-possessed woman would not 
be able to help her no one in the world 
would be able to do so. 

When she recalled what Mrs. Barton had 
said to her she felt very hopeful, and was 
disposed to think that the tennis party had 
been an unequivocal success. 

Orchardcroft, the home of Mr. Ringwood 
and his daughters, was an interesting old, 
half-timbered house that stood far away from 
the road, in the centre of a few acres of old- 
world gardens, with a walled orchard and a 
green paddock. While the girls had been 
at school the grounds had been badly cared 
for ; their father had turned a delightful 
eighteenth - century domed temple, which 
stood on the highest part of the grounds, 
into an observatory, and from this place he 
hardly emerged even for his meals. When 
his daughters returned from school he became 
a little more human ; he usually— except on 
an astronomical gala night, when there was a 
total eclipse of the moon, or an occupation 
that promised much — dined with his 
daughters at eight o'clock, and returned to 
his telescopes by nine. 

On their return from the little tennis party, 
however, they waited for him until a quarter 
past eight, and then sent a message to him 
in the observatory that they were doing so. 
Considering that he knew what was the time 
to the tenth part of a second, it seemed 
absurd for them to have to remind him that 
it was a quarter past the dinner-hour. He 
told the servant that he was quite well aware 
of the time, but it was impossible for him to 
leave the equatorial instrument at which he 
was engaged for another hour. 

When Cassie got the message she said 
nothing, but after helping her sister and her- 
self sent the joint away to be kept warm for 
her father. 

" He is getting worse and worse," said 
Andromeda when they were eating their 
peaches together a little later. 

" I give him up," said Cassie. " I hate 
the very sight of a star, and as for the 
moon, I have simply come to detest that 
round foolish face of hers. As if anything 
up there is of the least importance compared 
to what goes on down here ! " 

An hour passed, and still the astronomer 
showed no sign of appearing. Cassie was 
clearly becoming uneasy. Her sister noticed 

U 1 1 I U I I I _' I I 




her looking at the clock every few minutes as 
the night advanced. At ten o'clock Cassie 
said: — 

" Father is very tiresome. I think I will 
go to the observatory and find out what is 
the matter." 

" Nothing is the matter ; I'll go to bed," 
yawned Annie. " I wouldn't bother about 
him if I were you, Cassie." 

Cassie shook her head. 

" Go to bed if you are tired," she said. 
" I'll just go to the door of the observatory. 
It's a beautiful night." 

" Of course it is," said Annie. " It's the 
fine nights that keep him in the observatory." 

She went upstairs, and Cassie, putting over 
her evening dress a silk cloak which she kept 
in the cloak-room for the purpose, went 
quickly out of the drawing-room window and 
fled along the path toward the slope of the 

But she did not go to the observatory. 
She turned aside from the walk and got upon 
a narrow track leading through a plantation 
of rhododendrons on to the paddock gate. 
The night was one of pale summer starlight. 
High in the sky Jupiter was hanging like an 
electric lamp ; and in the west the Evening 
Star was glowing mildly. Beneath it, and 
just over the top rail of the gate, another star 
was shining — red and intermittent — the burn- 
ing end of a cigar. 

She stood still in the shelter of the shrub- 
bery ; and the red star became a meteor 
flying through the air. It was Captain 
Sedgwick who vaulted over the gate and 
came toward her. He put his arms about 
her and kissed her without a word. So 
they remained. Not a whisper passed 
between them ; but the exchange of kisses 
was as rapid as the beats of a pendulum. 

At last she turned her face away from his 
and hid it on his shoulder. He could hear 
— and feel— that she was sobbing. 

" My darling," he whispered, " what's the 
matter? What's your trouble?" 

She could not answer him. He waited 
patiently for a long time. 

" Can you not tell me, dear ? " he said. 
"No? Well, shall I tell you what has 
brought you to this? I think I know," 

" You cannot ; you cannot," she said. 

"Can I not? Do you fancy I can't 
understand how you feel from knowing how 
I feel myself? Do you fancy that I can't 
understand what you feel, meeting me in 
this hole-and-corner way — you who have 
never been guilty of an underhand act in all 
your life?" 

by Google 

She raised her face and looked at hin 
through large, tearful eyes. 

"That is it; that is it," she said. * 
made up my mind yesterday never to meet 
you in this way again. I meant to tell you 
so to-day, only we never had a chance o 
being together. Oh, Fred, it is a, shocking 
thing to do, *and I will never do so again, 
whatever you may say." 

" I will not ask you, darling," said he, 
"It was my fault altogether. No one but 
cad would have asked a nice girl like you 
to meet him in this way, even for the few- 
minutes we have together. Heaven knows 
I would not have asked you if your father 
had been approachable — if you were situated 
as other girls are. Your father is to blame. 
But we'll not discuss that The end has 
come now. I'll force him to see me 
to-morrow, and to hear what I have to say 
to him." 

" I have made up my mind to confess to 
him to-night," said she. " I cannot sleep 
before I have told him that we love each 
other and will never cease to love each other. 
But I know what the consequence will be : 
he will refuse to let me see you. He will 
ask me if I have no sense of my duty as a 

" Let him only give me the chance of 
asking him if he thinks he has done his duty 
as a father in regard to you. I'll tell him a 
few home-truths, never fear. Stars ! What 
business has the father of such a girl as you 
to spend his time mooning up there ? " 

He nodded in the direction of the obser- 
vatory, through the broad open section in the 
dome of which the light streamed. Suddenly 
the door of the building was flung open, and 
out there rushed the figure of the astronomer 
himself, bareheaded, and with a sheaf of 
papers clasped tightly in one hand. 

In a second Cassie had pushed back 
Captain Sedgwick into the shadow of the 
rhododendrons and had run across the little 
track to intercept her father. She cried out 
to him when he had started to run to the 
house. He was clearly surprised, and waited 
tor her. 

"What is the matter?" she gasped, when 
she was beside him. "You have had no 
dinner and I came out to learn what on 
earth had happened." 

" Nothing on earth has happened — nothing 
on earth ; but something a good way beyond 
the earth," he cried. " My child, congratulate 
me. I have achieved the object of my most 
ambitious dreams — I have discovered a 
comet. I picked it up at ten o'clock in the 

Original from 



morning, and I have been at it ever since. 
Only this moment have I completed the 
calculation of its motion that proves it to 
be a comet. It is of the sixteenth magni- 
tude, and at midnight should be close to 
Gamma Lyra. It will be classed *No. 3, igo8.' 
I must drive at once to I^astertown. The 

11 Why not borrow Dr. Barneses motor ? ' 
suggested Cassie. " It will get to Lastertown 
in half an hour" 

" Heaven bless you, my dear ! That saving 
of half an hour may mean the dishing ol the 
Lick people, to say nothing of the Italians, 
who have become very prying of ?ate, As 


telegraph office there does not close till mid- 
night. Pray heaven that none of those prying 
Americans with their mammoth instruments 
arid clear atmosphere have already discovered 
'^ But why do I stand here talking like a 
too\? Every moment is precious ! " 

by Google 

if an Italian could know anything of 

Cassie rather fanned that she recollected 

reading of an Italian named Galileo who 

had a sort of reputation for dabbling in 

astronomical matters. She said nothing, 

Original from 




however, but watched her father hurry off 
clutching his calculations to his breast. She 
waited up for him on his return from the 
telegraph office at Lastertown. She had 
made up her mind to confess to him her 
secret engagement to Captain Sedgwick and 
the stolen meetings which it entailed ; but he 
never gave her the chance of doing so. She 

The newspapers the next morning relieved 
the suspense of Mr. Ring wood, He had 
lost the credit of two previous discoveries 
through having communicated them at first to 
a brother savant instead of to a press agency, 
hut he did not make such a mistake this 
time. He had telegraphed to a press agency 
from I^astertown, and the morning papers 




L v 



Ln' (Si 



^^^ °^^^l ^^Ei^H 





could only sit there in silence while he paced 
the floor of the drawing-room, excitedly 
discussing the possibilities of his being 
anticipated in his discovery by some rival 
observer After half an hour of this 
perturbation he rushed out to the observa- 
tory to verify his calculations by noticing the 
change in position of his discovery, and she 
went to bed with a sigh. 

by Google 

had gone to press with big headlines 
announcing the discovery of a new comet by 
Mr. Wilfred Ringwood, and there was no 
mention of Lick or Greenwich or any prying 
Italian in the connection. All that day 
there was a stream of telegraph messengers 
flowing toward Orchardcroft bearing con- 
gratulations to the discoverer from the 
numbers of various learned bodies through- 




out the kingdom, and several motor-cars, 

bearing deputations from London newspapers, 

with attendant photographers, were buzzing 

away on the carriage-drive. The newspaper 

gentlemen seemed to be under the impression 

that they could embellish their interview 

with the astronomer with photographs of his 

comet, taken from various points of view, as 

if it were an ordinary foreign visitant. 

Finding out their mistake, they consoled 

themselves by taking several snapshots of 

the astronomer's daughters, and there is no 

reason to believe that the general public was 

dissatisfied at the substitution of the pictures 

of the terrestrial figures for those of the 


Of course, with the appearance of these 
pictures, and the views of Orchardcroft and 
the Creek temple observatory, the people in 
the neighbourhood were made aware of the 
fact that Mr. Ringwood was a person of dis- 
tinction. But this did not prevent a good 
many people from asserting that if Mr. Ring- 
wood had been a hermit previously, he would 
be a much more exclusive one in future ; and 
they all agreed in pitying his daughters. It 
was, however, only Mrs. Barton who set 
herself considering if it might not be possible 
to make Mr. Ringwood's comet play as 
important a part in the fortunes of the family 
as was assigned to such heavenly bodies by 
popular superstition in respect of reigning 
dynasties. The result of her consideration 
of the matter was embodied in a note to 
Cassie, which was followed by a long chat 
with that young lady ; and a few days later 
the girl approached her father in a spirit of 
chaste inquiry respecting the movements 
of the comet. In a few words he relieved 
her anxiety on this point, and expressed his 
satisfaction at the intelligent interest she took 
in it ; and she replied that every person in 
the neighbourhood was interested in it, and 
put so many questions to her about it she 
was quite ashamed not to be able to answer 
them all. She had been wondering, she 
said, if it was altogether fair to the people 
to allow them to remain groping for the 
information that he could impart to them in 
half an hour. Why should he not read a 
paper to them some evening before the 
comet disappeared, telling them all that 
they were so anxious to learn respecting it — 
twenty or thirty people, no more— really 
anxious inquirers who had struggled on year 
after year without finding anyone who could 
tell them the truth about comets? 

The pathos of the position of these 
unhappy persons made a powerful appeal to 

VOL xU.-6. 

her father. He asked Cassie if she thought 
there were really so many as thirty people who 
would come to hear him read a paper ; and 
she assured him that, leaving the school- 
master and the organist out of the question, 
there would be no difficulty in getting so 
large an audience, and all quite irreproach- 
able people into the bargain — not a word to 
be said against them — some of them had 
been presented at Court. She was afraid 
that her father did not quite appreciate the 
advance that had been made during the past 
few years in the popular yearning after the 
truths of science. 

Her father felt flattered — she meant him 
to feel flattered— and with some emotion he 
gave her leave to invite as many persons as 
she chose to the house on the following 
Friday evening ; the comet was to reach its 
nearest point to the earth at ioh. 14m. 5*0 is. 
on that night, and could any more appropriate 
time be chosen for his paper? He would 
have told his audience all that was possible 
for them to learn about this particular comet 
by that time, and then at the exact moment 
he would enable them to experience the 
unique sensation of being 852,000,000 miles 
away from it one second and the next second 
852,523,491, and not for 7,321 years would 
any human being on earth have a chance of 
getting so close to it again. 

The reflection was a terrible one ; but 
Cassie bore up against the strain that it 
entailed, and hurried off to tell Mrs. Barton 
of the concession made by her father, and to 
consult as to the arrangements to make for 
the scientific fete for the following Friday. 
The result of their conference was the issue 
of some thirty-five or forty invitations in 
this form : — 

Mr. Wilfred Ri no wood, F.R.A.S., 


Miss R inc. wood 

Have the honour to invite 

to the Observatory, Orchardcroft, on 
Friday, September 4th, at 9 p.m. 

Thk Comet. Dancing. 

There was a considerable amount of dis- 
cussion in many households where the card 
arrived as to the exact character of the enter- 
tainment it promised ; but a sufficient amount 
of curiosity was excited in the neighbour- 
hood to cause almost every invitation to be 
accepted. Some sanguine people were under 
the impression that somehow Mr. Ringwood 

U 1 1 I U I I I '_' I I 




had acquired certain proprietary rights over 
the comet, so that he could make it do 
practically anything that he pleased when he 
gave the word, and they conjectured that he 
was about to exhibit it in a new light to his 
friends ; they only hoped that he would not 
go too far, and make them run any risk. 
Comets were ticklish things, they said ; like 
live shells or stray torpedoes, they required 
to be very delicately handled. The word 
" Dancing," however, was reassuring. People 
knew where they were when they got a card 
with " Dancing " upon it, and so acceptances 
flowed in upon Miss Ringwood. She did not 
like to bother her father with any details of the 
arrangements she was making for the success 
of his lecture ; and when he was rather 
mystified at the removal of the heavy furni- 
ture, from the dining-room and the polishing 
of the floor, she had no trouble in explaining 
to him that earnest seekers after scientific 
truth would listen all the more attentively to 
his paper if they were to warm themselves up 
to it, so to speak, by the healthful exercise of 
a dance ; and when, later still, he found the 
furniture in his library arranged so as to allow 
of the introduction of a long trestle table, 
and inquired the reason of this, she assured 
him that a stand-up supper would go far to 
counteract the exhaustion due to the mental 
strain of following closely the scientific reve- 
lations which his paper would undoubtedly 
bring before a considerable number of his 

He was easily satisfied with her explana- 
tions ; and for the two evenings preceding 
the Friday, anyone passing close to his 
observatory would have heard him rehearsing 
his lecture to the cold stars that winked 
humorously — though he did not notice that 
— through the aperture in the revolving dome 
of his Greek temple. 

After a quick and rather scrappy dinner on 
the Friday evening, Mr. Ringwood went out 
to the observatory to assure himself that he 
could lay his hand at a moment's notice upon 
the material for his paper — the volumes from 
which he was to quote, and the diagrams 
which he was t exhibit. His elder daughter 
had strongly advised him to adopt this course, 
and she promised to bring out to him his 
audience when they should be ready. As a 
matter of course the paper was to be read in 
the observatory, and Miss Ringwood expressed 
the hope that everyone would be able to get 
a glimpse of the comet when it was closest 
to the earth, though it had been explained 
to her that at least a quarter of a million 
miles must be passed over between the 

by K: 



approach of one observer and another to the 
big telescope. 

And the moment that the astronomer 
disappeared his daughters made a rush fo; 
their rooms. When they emerged in th«; 
course of an hour or so they were dresseci 
as they never expected to be dressed, in that 
house or any other. Mrs. Barton had just 
driven up in her brougham — the first of 
the guests — and she held up her hands in 
admiration of their charming toilettes. But 
neither of the girls had sufficient self 
possession to hold up her hands at seeing 
Mrs. Barton. They felt sure that they had 
never seen anyone so handsome before. 
She was radiant in Spanish lace and 
diamonds, and did not look a day over 
thirty-five. She walked with the air of an 
empress going forth to conquest. There 
was the light of triumph in her beautiful 
eyes, Captain Sedgwick whispered in her ear. 
He was the second guest to arrive. 

" Do please see that everything is right in 
the supper-room," said Cassie, when she had 
allowed him to hold her hand for a moment 
or two. She could only give him a few 
seconds. Two motors had just stopped at 
the hall door, and she had to receive her 
guests and explain that her father was waiting 
to do the honours of the observatory, and 
that she believed that the comet was in 
great form. 

And then there came the sound of the 
tuning of a violin, a violoncello, and a piano, 
followed by a few bars of a favourite waltz. 

"If anyone had told me a fortnight ago 
that I should live to see such a scene in 
this house I should have smiled," said Sir 
Gresham Hanley to Georgie Roberts, as 
they stood at the door of the dining-room 
and watched a dozen pairs of dancers whirl- 
ing along the polished floor. 

" How the mischief did those girls manage 
to bring their dad up to the scratch ? " asked 
Georgie, when he had found his eye-glass 
and had screwed it into its place with a firm 

" That's what beats me," said Sir Gresham. 
"Not but what it's about time that the old 
chap made a move in this direction. He 
has been in this house for eleven years, and 
I give you my word he never asked one of 
us if we had a mouth." 

" These learned Johnnies aren't built that 
way, I suppose," said Georgie. " It was a 
bit rough on the girls, wasn't it ? What 
about that comet business ? I hear it's a 
new farce to be played by amateurs." 

" No fear," said Sir Gresham. " The old 




boy invented a comet— didn't you see all 
about it in the papers?— and he's going to 
giv€ us a lecture on it later on + " 

** I hope it will be a good bit later on, 

Rut, sooner or later, he won't catch me 

listening to him," said Georgie, " Lord 

High Admiral ! I see what his little game 

There was, however, no hint given by 
either of the girls of the house that the dance 
was to be a prelude to something of a 
different character. Several of their guests 
had put smiling questions to them on this 
point, and they had replied, also with smiles, 
that as soon as people were tired of dancing 

is. This is the gilding of the pill he has in 
store for us," 

"Shouldn't wonder," remarked SirGresham. 
" Well, Fve lirkL-d the sugar off more than one 
pill in my nursery days and then found I had 
no use for the pill. I'll keep my eyes open." 

they were expected to join their father in the 

When an hour or so had passed no further 
inquiry was made after the comet. Everyone 
declared that the floor was perfect, and the 
music the best that had ever been danced to. 




Mrs. Barton was the only one who seemed 
to feel that the lonely old man — he was, she 
happened to know, just fifty-one— sitting in 
his observatory, far out of the sound of the 
revelry of the dance 1 was deserving of some 
consideration. At the close of a walU she 
hurried to Cassie and said : — 

u Would you spoil all between you? Vot 
are both very brave with the Rush of tb£ 
last waltz still upon you," replied Mn 
Barton. u No, my dear ; let me manafs 
this affair in my own way. Just give me tli 
bearings of the observatory in the meantime.' 

The girl threw a wrap over her shoulder 


" I promised to look after your father. 
Will you guide me to the observatory ? " 

For a moment the girl had a qualm of 

14 1 will go to him, too," she said. * ( I will 
confess all. Fred is quite ready to face him.' J 

Digitized by GoOgic 

and led the lady through an oak -panelled 
passage that brought them into the garden at 
the back of the house. For fifty or sixty 
yards they hurried along the path until the 
glare from the observatory roof was 

Original from 





cc No farther ! Hurry back to your guests ; 
tout you must look us up in half an hour, and 
bring your Fred with you," whispered the 
widow ; and Cassie, putting her arms about 
her to kiss her, was amazed to find that she 
was trembling. 

* c What is the matter? Good gracious! 
what's the matter?" she cried. 

** Nothing is the matter, my child, except 
that I am going into the presence of the 
man who loved me twenty-four years ago, 
and whom I have not ceased to love during 
all that time." 

She rushed awr.y, leaving the girl in 
amazement on the garden path, with all the 
stars of the heavens, and perhaps a stray 
comet or two as well, shining over her and 
about her. 

Miss Ringwood walked very slowly back 
to the music and the dance. She was 
bewildered at the revelation made to her 
by Mrs. Barton, and possibly it was this 
feeling which intensified the impression of 
remorse of which she was becoming 
conscious. She fought against it all through 
the next few dances — the two last of them 
were with Captain Sedgwick ; but when her 
partner suggested an ice she broke down. 

"Oh, Fred," she whispered, "I feel that 
we have behaved very badly in regard to my 
father. It is a shame. We took him in 
quite shamefully, and there we went on 
enjoying ourselves while he has been waiting 
for us in his lonely observatory." 

" I agree with you," he said. " Come 
along ; I told you an hour ago I was ready 
to face him, and I'm just as ready now. 
Bring me to him and give me a chance of 
telling him what are my intentions. The 
evening is not wasted if I am given the 
chance which I could not get any other way." 
" Will you listen to his paper on his 
comet ? " she cried. 

He did not quail ; he did not even blench. 
" Lead on," he said, in a low, resolute 
voice. " Lead on ! " 

She hurried along without even waiting 
for him to put his hand in hers for proper 
guidance ; and in a few minutes they were 
together at the door of the observatory. 
There they paused to take breath, and at 
that moment there came from within the 
Greek temple the sound of laughter — of the 
laughter of two people of different sexes. 

"Pull yourself together, my dearest," 
whispered Fred, putting his arm round the 

girl. " Pull yourself together. He may 
recover in time. I've known cases of chaps 
going off their heads with too much cram. 
Let me go first and " 

There came another outburst of hilarity 
from the observatory. 

Cassie opened the door quietly, and they 
both peered through the aperture into the 
room beyond. 

What they saw was the figure of a well- 
set-up man in the prime of life, standing by 
the side of a radiant lady, in Spanish lace 
and diamonds, and they were engaged in 
dancing together a polka-mazurka of twenty- 
five years before, while they lilted in unison 
the melody from a once- popular opera. 
Every now and again one of them became 
breathless, and then they both laughed to- 
gether. Suddenly the lady broke away from 
his encircling arm and threw herself into a 
chair, saying : — 

" I cannot dance any more, Wilfred. I 
tell you I haven't danced a mazurka since 
that last we had together long ago — ah, 
how long ago ? " 

11 How long? Only five minutes ago, my 
dear lady," he cried. " I refuse to think 
that anything has happened since we had 
that dance together." 

He pulled a footstool close to her with his 
toe and sat down on it at her feet. He took 
one of her hands and brought it to his lips. 

It was at that moment that Mrs. Barton 
saw that the door was ajar. She cried out 
Cassie entered the room boldly. 

" What about the comet ? " she said, 

"The comet? The comet be — spectro- 
scoped ! " cried her father. " Who would 
look at a comet of the sixteenth magnitude 
when Venus is shining in front of him ? Can 
you dance a mazurka, my dear daughter?" 
He had sprung to his feet. 

" No," said Cassie, severely ; "but Captain 
Sedgwick wishes to speak to you." 

"You are a pair of young — young fools ! " 
he said, looking from one to the other. " A 
man does not know what love is until he is 
fifty-one. I was fifty-one in June." 

"And I was fifty-one a month ago," 
said Fred. 

" You ? Nonsense, sir ! " cried the father. 

" It's a fact, sir ; if what you have stated 
is a fact, and a man must be fifty-one before 
he can love, I must have been that age when 
I met your daughter a month ago ! " 

by Google 

Original from 



OGGIER yet and colder 
— piercing, searching, nose- 
biting cold ! The owner of 
one scant young nose stooped 
down at Scrooge's keyhole to 
regale him with a Christmas 
Carol, but at the first sound 
Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of 
action that the singer fled in terror. 

At length the hour of shutting up the 
counting house arrived. Scrooge took his 
melancholy dinner in his melancholy tavern 
and departed for his chambers* There was 
a fire blazing on the hearth and an easy chair 
in front of it. Scrooge put on his dressing- 
gown and slippers. 

He took down " David Copperfield," and, 
forgetful of bed, was deep in its pages when 
a sudden sound startled him. He looked 
up, and there at his side stood a strange, 
pale spirit, like a wondrous child, yet not so 
like a child as an old man, viewed through 
some supernatural medium. 

" Who — who and what are you ? " faltered 

" I am the Spirit of Literary Justice," 
spoke the apparition, "I have been watch- 
ing your enjoyment of those volumes at your 
side — and not yours alone, but that of 
millions* I have been, in my earthly round, 
a spectator of the humanizing influence they 
exert, not merely upon the youthful and the 
sentimental, but upon even such natures as 
yours, And yet, for all your enjoyment and all 
your gratitude s I see you have not paid your 
debt — trifling as it is — to the memory of 
Charles Dickens." 

"You refer to the Dickens Stamp, I 
suppose?" muttered Scrooge, with something 
like a sneer* 

" I refer," rejoined the Spirit, reproachfully, 
"to the certificate which all books of Charles 
Dickens should bear, that they have paid duty 
to the extent of a single penny in the Custom 
House of Literary Morality. "Publishers and 
printers of these books grow rich, while those 
whom their author dearly loved, whom he 
literally wore his body out to benefit, do not 
receive from the sale of all these millions of 
books one single farthing How can you be 
grateful to Dickens and yet refuse to pay 
even a penny to his family? " 

" How ? Easily enough," snorted Scrooge. 

Diqilized byviODQK 

" It ain't the penny — it's the principle of the 
thing. Why should I pay a penny I don't 
have to pay? Answer me that ! What do I 
care about copyright ? What do I care about 
authors' property? If authors want to make 
money — if they want to create property, let 
em go into some other business, I say, I 
never pay any copyright fee. Ha, ha!" 

** And you refuse to pay this small deferred 
royalty to the Dickens family?" asked the 

"Certainly I do," retorted Scrooge. "No 
Dickens Stamps for me. But here— hi ! 
there, what are you doing ? n 

Well might he ask. For the Spirit had 
not gathered up into his arms the volumes 
Scrooge had taken from the shelves, but was 
gathering up several others still there, 

11 It is such a little thing to do," murmured 
the Spirit ; w will you do it?" 

" No!" roared Scrooge, "Give me back 
the books," 

The Spirit held a curious object in its 
hand, which Scrooge recognized as a heated 
branding iron, and could even distinguish 
the red hot letters, " Unpaid," reversed, of 

tL Then," said the Spirit, " I am obliged to 
take a step which I am loath to take, but 
which is the only one which carries any 
weight with such natures as yours." 

Very rapidly the red hot brand was raised 
eight times, and eight times brought down 
upon the inside cover of each volume. Once 
Scrooge attempted to intervene and was 
rewarded by a burn on the knuckles which 
made him howl with pain- When the Spirit 
had finished its task, there the letters stood 
out black and forbidding on the white 
boards : — 

NO Tribute to Genius," 

Scrooge gazed upon the inscription and for 
a moment was very angry. But he pretended 
to laugh it off. 

" I don't care," he cried, *' What does it 
matter to me ? Besides, I'll scrape it off to- 

But the Spirit shook its head. 

"It will never scrape off, The more you 
seek to erase it, the deeper it will get. There 
is only one way it can he obliterated. There 
is only one nay "it can t>e turned into an 



For the Prize CtwMttbn ste tht other j££'9' r 


Our T)ickens 'Prize Competition 


First Prize - £25 

Second Prize - - - - £ 1 

Third Prize - £5 

And Ten Prizes of £1 each. 

THE picture on the preceding page shows some well-known 
Dickens Characters, all of whom are carrying sandwich-boards 
displaying the Dickens Stamp, with the exception of Scrooge, 
whose board is vacant. The intention is that the reader should fix 
one of the Dickens Stamps on the vacant space on this board and 
thereby complete the picture. If he wishes to compete for one 
of the above prizes, he must send the picture thus completed to 
this office, together with a list of as many of the characters shown in 
it as he can identify, placed in what he considers to be their order 
of popularity, each reader making the list of his own favourites 
in order of preference. The whole number of competition papers 
will then be examined and a list of "those characters obtaining 
the greatest number of votes will be made out, and the readers 
whose lists approach most nearly to this general consensus of opinion 
will obtain the prizes. Competitors may send in as many lists as 
they like, provided that each is accompanied by a stamped picture. 

Having made out such a list, each competitor should sign it 
with his or her name and address, and, having placed a Dickens 
Stamp in the empty space on the other side of this page, the 
whole should then be sent, on or before the 31st of January, 
to The Strand Magazine, 3 to 13, Southampton Street, Strand, 
London, W.C. The words " Dickens Competition" should be 
plainly marked in the top left-hand corner of the envelope. 

The' Editor's decision in all matters relating to this competition 
must be accepted as final. 

Another picture will be given next month with a different 
group of characters, when similar prizes will be offered to our readers, 

rv ^h f^ru^flL"- Original from 




inscription of honour, of truth, and of beauty, 
which will reflect credit upon, and give 
pleasure to, the owner of every book the 
Master wrote." 

"The Dickens Stamp, I suppose?" 
snarled Scrooge. 

44 The Dickens Stamp," assented the Spirit. 

" And suppose I refuse ? I dare say you'll 

come and burn the books themselves next. 

Nice notions of honour and justice you 

people have ! " 

"If you refuse, the brand upon that book 

will gradually eat into it and spread itself 

upon its pages. It will appear before your 

eyes in the most touching passages and spoil 

your zest in all their author writes. It will 

poison the well of his pathos and dry up the 

fountain of his wit The more he gives the 

greater will be the blot, the louder you will 

seem to proclaim that you pay him and his 

heirs no tribute at all, until at last you will be 

fain to get rid of the book — for you will no 

longer have pleasure in Little Nell, in Sam 

Weller, in Oliver, and Tiny Tim — and so let 

it pass into the hands of someone who will 

gladly and right willingly pay their penny 

tribute to the genius who wrote the book." 

And with these words the Spirit of Literary 
Justice departed. The noise it made in 
shutting the door woke Scrooge up. The 
room was his own, the bed-post was his own, 
the volumes of Dickens scattered on the 
floor were his own. He seized upon them 
eagerly, as the memory of the Spirit^ words 
returned to him, and turned them over with 
trembling fingers. No mark on the inside 
cover — no mark on the fly-leaves — no mark 
on the title-page. Wonderful — very ! 

" Heaven be praised ! " cried Scrooge. 
" Spirit, hear me ! I am not the man I was. 
I will not be the man I must have been but 
for this intercourse. I believe that the heirs 
of such a beneficent genius should have 
something for his work, and that even though 
they can ask nothing as of right, yet in honour 
of him and to celebrate his hundredth birth- 
day I will place a guinea Stamp in each of 
the volumes I possess. Halloa, my fine 
fellow ! " called out Scrooge to the newspaper 
boy, who was endeavouring to insert a Daily 
Telegraph into the letter-box. 
" Halloa ! " returned the boy. 
"Here's a ten-pound note," said Scrooge. 
"Go and get me eight guinea Dickens 
Stamps, and keep the change, my buck." 
" Rats ! " exclaimed the boy. 
11 No, no," said Scrooge ; " I'm in earnest. 
Go and buy 'em, and bring 'em here this 
You *ii,-7, 

" Do you mean Dickens Centenary Testi- 
monial Stamps ? " returned the boy. 

" What a delightful youth ! " said Scrooge. 
" Yes, my fine fellow." 

" Why, they're only a penny." 

" Only a penny ! " echoed Scrooge. " Not 
the best and dearest ? " 

" There's only one kind," replied the boy. 
"One penny each book for rich and poor. 
The same that His Majesty King George has 
put in his copies at Marlborough House and 
Sandringham, and the same the little lame 
girl at the London Hospital last week put 
in hers. I've gone without cigarettes two 
days running and put one in my * Nicholas 
Nickleby,' " added the boy. 

" Then buy me a thousand," cried Scrooge, 
giving him the money. "Come back with 
'em in less than five minutes and I'll give you 
half a crown." 

The boy was off like a shot. He must 
have had a steady hand who could have got 
a shot off half so fast. 

" I'll send the rest to the poor," whispered 
Scrooge, rubbing his hands and chuckling. 
" I'll send 'em to the little lovers of Dickens 
in the East-end, and in the shop and factory 
libraries, who can't afford even a penny. And 
I'll help lead others to buy them, too, so that 
all — all among the millions — young and old 
and rich and poor, may pay their tribute to 
the genius of Charles Dickens. We don't 
want a halting, half-hearted thing ; it must 
be a bumper testimonial — something to show 
the Spirit of Literary Justice that, although 
he is not alive with us to celebrate his 
hundredth birthday, although he has been 
sleeping in Westminster Abbey these 
forty years, the world has not forgotten, 
nor is likely to forget, what it owes to 
the genius and the beautiful soul of Charles 

And so it all ended— as all such stories 
should end — well and happily, and (as Tiny 
Tim observed) God bless us every one ! 

Now it is not necessary to suppose that 
the foregoing allegory will be taken seriously 
to heart by any large class among the readers 
of Dickens. Not for a moment is it to be 
imagined that there are any owners of copies 
of works of the great novelist who will really 
refuse to pay their Centenary penny tribute. 
It is a small thing to do. Will you — you, 
dear reader, who hold this Magazine in your 
hands, and whose eye scans this page, will 
you pay your penny for the Dickens Stamp, 
now on sale everywhere ? Will you do 
it now? 


The Reader s Love-Story. 


Illustrated by W. Dewar, 

ITTENHAM had not been 
back from his holidays more 
than a week before his col- 
leagues at the big publishing 
house began to suspect that 
there was something the 
matter with the assistant 
reader. Within the next few days suspicion 
became certainty. The only doubt left was 
as to the precise nature of the malady from 
which he was suffering. Diagnosis was 
difficult: the symptoms were so perplexing. 
For one thing, Tittenham had all at once 
become quite painfully particular about his 
clothes. Mr. George Alexander would not 
have been ashamed of the crease which 
adorned Tottenham's trousers. Now, creased 
trousers are not things which it is easy for a 
busy publisher's reader to cultivate with any 
notable degree of success. TittenhanVs 
determination carried him to the length of 
standing up all day to his work, That, to 
say the least of it, was significant. 

Then there was the dreamy look in his 
eyes, Perfectly true it is that young men 
not infrequently come back from a seaside 
holiday with a dreamy look in their eyes ; 
but it rarely persists for more than two or 
three days. Tittenham had retained his for 
more than a fortnight. The thing had all 
the appearance of a permanency about 
it No wonder the phenomenon excited 
comment Publishers' readers never have 
dreamy looks in their eyes. Wild looks 
— stern, relentless, pessimistic, even blood- 
thirsty looks they have, if you like, but not 
dreamy ones, or at the most only bad^ 
dreamy ones, 

Even the editor-in-chief— that great Pan- 
jandrum upon whose nod all that was best 
and brainiest in English literature hung 
trembling — noticed at last that Tittenham 
was not quite himself. The Mighty One had 
a ready explanation to offer. 

"Great mistake — holidays^ my dear Titten- 
ham, ,] he remarked, when the assistant reader 
came into his room one morning, " I found 

by Google 

that out years ago, when I couldn't afford to 
have 'em. You're feeling the effect of yours, 
I can see. Hadn't you better take another 
week or two to get over it? tJ 

"I'm all right," declared Tittenham, with 
a wan smile. "Fit as a flea. I'm not pale* 
really ; it's only the tan wearing off that 
makes me look so/ 5 

" Yes, that's all very well, TJ demurred the 
other, "but you didn't get any tan on your 
brain, you know ; and that's where / notice 
the change. Not that I mean you're at all 
touched/' he hastened to explain, noting the 
look of alarm which had come into Totten- 
ham's face; "but some of the stuff you've 
been chucking at me this last day or two, 
and making out that it's the goods — well, 
really ! " He delved into an untidy pile 
which lay on the table before him and held 
up a manuscript. From his expression one 
would have thought he had in his hands a 
superannuated fish— a smelt, say, which was 
trying to live up to its name, "Take this 
effusion, for instance, my dear boy ! Slush 
—absolute drivelling, gushy, sloppy slush! 
The man who could mark that ' V. G* J can't 
possibly be well." 

M I'm sorry you don't agree with my 
opinion," said Tittenham, stiffly. " I thought 
it a very moving story." 

" * Moving * is right," retorted the- editor, 
dryly, as he dropped the offending MS, into a 
basket at his side, " It moves out of here by 
to-night's post Now look here, Tittenham/ 1 
he went on, in as kindly a tone as he had at 
his command ; " you know the sort of thing 
we want — better than any reader we've had 
for years ; and you know jolly well it isn't 
piffling little yarns about young dukes falling 
in love with their sisters* governesses — pages 
of rot about his g^zmg into her eyes and 
seeing the love- light, and Heaven knows what 
other nonsense, You're out of form, Titten- 
ham, or you would have turned a thing like 
that down after reading two pages of it. You 
take two or three days' rest. Never mind the 
old scripts — let 'em stew," 

Original from 




In vain did Tittenham protest that there 
was nothing whatever the matter with him. 

44 A tonic, my boy, that's what you want," 
announced the other, with all the cocksure 
finality of the amateur physician. " A good 
bracing tonic — three times a day, before 
meals. Now, cut along to the chemist and 
have it made up. Don't show your nose 
here till next Monday." 

" Tonic ! " ejaculated Tittenham, bitterly, 
as he made his way downstairs , " precious 
lot of good a tonic will do me." 

Truth to tell, the Pharmacopoeia is not 
so rich as it might be in remedies for the 
particular complaint from which Tittenham 
was suffering. 

Briefly, he was in love. 
Her name was Muriel. That, however, 
was no fault of hers. It was just her god 
parents' mistaken prognosis of the case, that 
was all. 

On the whole there was a good deal of 
excuse to be found for Tittenhams downfall. 
Over and above a quite unusual allowance of 
good looks, Muriel had many other points 
in her favour. Item, there was not a trace 
of affectation about her. In an age in which 
it appears to be the great ambition of every 
young woman to be mistaken by the casual 
passer-by for one of the leading lights of 
musical comedy, Muriel could only be 
described as unnaturally natural. She could 
look at a man who did not happen to be the 
owner of a motor-car without endeavouring 
to imply by her expression that she was 
regarding a peculiarly offensive type of earth- 
worm. When she spoke, she did so without 
endeavouring to give an imitation of an 
Oxford undergraduate suffering from extreme 
ennui. Her novelty was amazing 

Therefore, it was not surprising that Tit- 
tenham, after a week of her society, arrived 
at the conclusion that either he must make 
her his or go away to some sequestered spot 
and pine gently but firmly to death. 

At first the odds seemed slightly in favour 
of his having to take the latter course. For 
a time he made absolutely no progress what- 
ever in her good graces. Even when he 
telegraphed desperately to town for three 
new suits and wore them all in the course of 
a single day, Muriel seemed comparatively 
unmoved. She was, as I have said before, 
an unusual type of girl. 

But on the day when, following a remark 
dropped by Muriel to the effect that if there 
was one thing she loved it was to read novels 
and to hear about their authors, Tittenham 
took occasion to inform her that he was the 

Digitized by C.OOQ I C 

reader for one of the great fiction-publishing 
houses, his stock rose with a bound. 

"Oh, I take such an interest in everything 
to do with books ! " she cried, excitedly. 
" Do please tell me all about yourself, Mr. 
Tittenham. What does a publisher's reader 
have to do ? " 

When elderly ladies put that same question 
to him (as they frequently did) it was Titten- 
ham's practice to say carelessly, '* Oh, I just 
have to read the books which authors submit 
to us, you know, and see if they are any 
good," and let it go at that. But he felt 
somehow that Muriel ought not to be fobbed 
off with so bald and inadequate a description 
of his massive functions. Muriel, he felt 
quite sure, would like the matter to be gone 
into with greater detail. So he set himself 
out to be informative. 

Maybe he got just a little carried away by 
the possibilities of the subject, or perhaps it 
was that he thought the flattering air of 
expectancy upon his listener's face deserved 
to be rewarded with something more satisfy- 
ing than a strict adherence to the actual facts 
of the case would probably have afforded. 
Anyhow, by the time he had finished Muriel 
had undoubtedly gathered the impression 
that she was sitting beside one of the most 
potent factors in modern English literature. 
The power lurking behind the throne — that 
was the picture of himself which Tittenham 
darkly adumbrated. The man who made 
and unmade authors with a few words 
scribbled on the outside cover of a MS. . . . 
The ripe judgment upon which a vast pub- 
lishing concern relied almost exclusively for 
its support. 

No wonder Muriel was just a little awe- 
struck. Not every day did she find herself 
in close proximity to one of the people who 

An interval of respectful silence intervened 
before she found courage to voice a timid 
opinion upon one of the minor advantages 
attaching to the profession of publisher's 

" How nice it must be for you," she 
hazarded, appreciatively, " to be able to 
read all the splendid novels and stories 
long before ordinary people get a look 
at them ! " 

" True," admitted Tittenham, not dis- 
pleased at the delicate flattery of that 
"ordinary." u On the other hand, I also 
read a large number of not at all splendid 
novels, etc., which ordinary people have the 
good luck never to see. That is where 
ordinary people distinctly have the laugh." 




But Muriel could see no fly in the pure 
amber of her companion's, life. 

" I should just love it ! " she cried, en- 
thusiastically- "Fancy! How thrilling it 
must be to think, every time you sit down 
before a pile of new manuscripts, perhaps 
you are going to meet a new George Mere- 
dith, or discover a second Charlotte Bronte ! IJ 

Titten ham's eyebrows went up for a 

the reluctant conclusion that the seaside was 
an unfavourable milieu for serious love 
making, with a firm offer of matrimony as its 
ultimate objective. Flirtations were all the 
seaside was any good for. But, by Jove, 
when Muriel got back to town— thank 
goodness, she had given him her address 
and permission to call — by Jove, when she 
got back to town ! Ah f ha ! No silly 


moment. This point of view had never 
occurred to him. 

w Thank you/' he said, after thinking it 
over. "That hadn't struck me, I must 
remember that the next time I'm settling 
down to work. Nothing like looking on the 
bright side of things." 

For three weeks following the day on which 
that delightful conversation had taken place 
Titten ham rose each morning from his bed 
with the fixed determination that he would 
ask Muriel to be his ere night fell. Yet night 
after night had fallen with the fateful words 
Still unspoken, Tottenham came at last to 

Digitized by Gt 

beating about the bush for C Tittenham 

then ! 

The interview with his chief gave his 

resolution just that stimulus which it so 

sorely needed. He went straight home from 

the office, lunched in ten minutes, changed 

his clothes in two hours and a half, and set 

out in a taxi for Muriel's abode. He went in 

a taxi— not because he felt tired or because 

the distance was very considerable, but 

because he thought if he dashed noisily up 

to the house it would give Muriel the pleasing 

impression that he practically lived in cabs, 

Unluckilv, as he discovered when he got 
urigmaftrom 6 




there, Muriel's drawing-room was at the 
back of the house, consequently the effect 
which he had designed was a little marred. 

He was so lucky as to find Muriel at home 
and alone. This was distinctly helpful. The 
little programme he had laid down in the cab 
was that, after a few polite remarks about the 
weather and her mother's health, he should 
proceed immediately to the more important 
business of demanding Muriel's hand. That 
was all very well in its way ; but when it came 
to the point Tittenham found that his pro- 
gramme was not quite so easy to carry out. 
Muriel's conversation was flowing, but it did 
not flow in the direction he desired. Chit- 
chat from the book world was what Muriel 
appeared to want more than anything else. 
Positively there seemed to be no limit to her 
curiosity on the subject of authors and their 

" I dare say you wonder what makes me so 
inquisitive about authors and their work ? " 
she remarked, after she had been plying 
Tittenham for about an hour with her 

"Not at all," he replied, politely. "It 
gives me great pleasure to be able to tell you 
what you want to know. Go on, please ; I 
like it." 

As long as she went on he had a decent 
excuse to remain where he was ; and Titten- 
ham felt not the least desire to leave Paradise 
and go out into the cold world outside. 

Muriel, however, did not go on. Instead, 
she sat silent for quite an appreciable time, 
fidgeting nervously with her fingers, and 
looking very much as if she had something 
she wanted to say without knowing quite 
how to express it 

" The fact is," she confessed at last, in a 
very small, timid voice, " I — I — I've had the 
cheek to try and write a little story myself." 

A horrible dread began to clutch at Titten- 
ham's heart. A cloud, considerably larger 
than a man's hand, began to gather on his 
mental horizon. 

"Oh, really, have you?" he managed to 
stammer, while he contorted his features into 
a nervous grin, intended to convey to Muriel 
the fact that he felt the liveliest pleasure 
in the good news she had just imparted. 
" Written a story, have you ? Indeed ! 
Come. That's capital ! " 

14 You can hardly say that until you have 
seen it, you know," objected Muriel, with a 
gay little laugh. Tittenham laughed too — 
the sort of laugh which a man might emit 
who, having just been sentenced to ten 
years' penal servitude for forgery, receives 


the news that his rich uncle has died that 
very morning. 

He studiously avoided Muriel's eyes during 
the brief but awkward silence which fell upon 
the meeting after her last remark. A man of 
courage would have rushed forward to meet 
the inevitable blow, but for the life of him 
the wretched young man could not get out 
the words which he knew full well he was 
expected to say. 

There was a shade of disappointment on 
Muriel's face as she remarked : — 

" Of course, I know I have no business to 
think I can write " 

And there she was mean enough to stop. 
Clearly Tittenham had either to make a 
move at once or she would be huffed. 

"Oh, not at all. Why should you think 
that ? " was the best he could manage. 
Then, struck with a sudden, useful inspira- 
tion, he hastened to add : " Though, mark 
you, I don't think authorship is a wise 
occupation for a woman to take up. Too 
exhausting. Takes too much out of one. 
A woman's delicate constitution isn't adapted 
to the strain." 

"Oh, I didn't find it exhausting at all,' 
Muriel assured him. "After I had once got 
started, I was quite surprised to find how 
easy it was to go on." 

To a similar surprise on the part of many 
other light-hearted men and women might 
the plentiful crop of grey hairs on his own 
youthful head be justly ascribed, pondered 
Tittenham, gloomily. He searched a wildly 
whirling brain for some way out of the 
deadly impasse which lay before him. Not 
a vestige of a loophole could he see any- 

" I've been wondering," Muriel went on, 
diffidently, "if I might — that is to say, would 
you mind very much — I mean, do you think 

I could possibly ask you to — to " She 

broke off in confusion, and gazed at Titten- 
ham with a world of mute appeal in her 

Tittenham shifted uneasily in his chair, 
and asked himself the§ desperate question — 
" Can I possibly pretend that I don't under- 
stand what she is working up for?" A 
thousand inward voices roared back an 
instantaneous and unanimous " NO ! ' 

" Perhaps," he hazarded, in a voice which 
he found it difficult to recognize as his own — 
"perhaps you would like me to look over 
your story and tell you — er — what I think 
of it?" 

" Oh, how perfectly sweet of you ! " In 
an access of gratitude Muriel allowed her 




hand to rest for an instant on his arm. 
Certainly the ecstasy imparted by that touch 
did something towards allaying the turmoil 
within Tottenham's bosom ; but the effect 
soon wore off. Muriel went over to the 
escritoire, Tittenham watching her as a dog 
in disgrace watches its master making for the 
corner where the whip is kept 

It was a nice fat parcel of paper which 
Muriel brought out of the carefully-locked 
drawer. It was tied up with pale-blue 
ribbon, too. And it was called " For the 
Kiss of a Woman." Tittenham found it 
hard to repress a shudder as he caught sight 
of that title. There were darksome things 
concealed under that label, if he knew 

" Mind— I want your real, candid opinion ! " 
was Miss Muriel's injunction, as she placed 
her literary first-born tenderly in his hands. 
" If you think it is just a lot of silly nonsense 
you must tell me straight. I sha'n't be in 
the least offended." 

Tittenham thought sadly of the many 
friends who had come to him with similar 
little parcels in their hands and the selfsame 
words on their lips. Old college chums 
some of them had been. They hurried up 
side-streets when they saw him coming now. 

There was a brave attempt at a smile upon 
his lips when he took up the manuscript and 
rose to go. Muriel never guessed that the 
obliging young man who stood before her 
was busily engaged in realizing the dissembled 
agonies of the Spartan boy. 

"When do you think you will be able to 
let me know ? " she asked, anxiously. 

Tittenham, reflecting that, as all the pro- 
babilities pointed to his losing her for ever 
some time or other, there was little object in 
deferring the day of doom, said he thought a 
week ought to be sufficient to enable him to 
form an opinion upon her work. 

" I expect you'll find it awful ! " laughed 
Muriel, gaily, as she bade him good-bye. 

Tittenham made a praiseworthy attempt 
to catch her note as he assured her that he 
felt no such apprehension ; but the result 
was rather sepulchral. 

" For the Kiss of a Woman " Tittenham 
found to have greater depths in it than he had 
expected. He read it all through once, and 
then he took a very stiff brandy and soda and 
read it all through once more. Then he had 
another brandy, neat, and sat down to think 
about it. The conclusion to which he came, 
after some hours of thought, was that in all 
probability " For the Kiss of a Woman " was 
the worst thing that had ever happened 

by Google 

anywhere. It was incredibly unlike anything 
in the heavens above or the earth beneath, 
or in the waters under the earth. It was the 
limit, the outside edge, the last word, the 
absolute North Pole of blithering ineffec- 
tuality. If half a-dozen undoubted geniuses 
had set themselves in freakish competition 
to see which could, with all the resources of 
art at command, get nearest to the utterly 
impossible, it might have been the prize 

" Oh, Muriel ! " groaned Tittenham, as he 
thrust the awfulness into the innermost 
recesses of his most secret drawer. Then 
he said "Oh, Muriel ! " two or three times 
more and tottered feebly away to bed. 

It was not until the receipt of her second 
note, marked " Very Urgent," that he screwed 
his courage up to the point of going to see 
her again. 

A journey to the dentist as the alternative 
to his journey to Muriel's house would have 
struck Tittenham in the light of a very 
enjoyable outing. 

Of course, he found her looking more 
ravishing than she had ever looked before ; 
that was only to be expected. Things never 
seem so entirely desirable as they do at the 
precise moment when they are receding 
permanently from our reach. 

Tittenham refused resolutely to see the 
mute question in her eyes as she shook hands 
with him. Instead, he plunged into a vast 
sea of generalities, talking madly and in- 
cessantly about everything and nothing, so 
that the evil moment might be postponed as 
long as possible, 

Muriel listened with ill-concealed im- 
patience to his babble. At last he had to 
pause for breath, and she struck, swiftly and 

" Well — now, tell me — what do you think 
of it?" 

Tittenham cleared his throat, and strove 
vainly to arrange in their due order the neat 
collection of euphemisms which had taken 
every waking hour of the past week for their 
preparation. He felt as if he were standing 
up before a crowded court to receive sentence. 
His tangled thoughts refused to obey the 
feeble summons of his will. He stood, 
a lone, lost mortal, in the very centre of 
whirling chaos. 

He tried to avoid Muriel's eyes. It was 
impossible. They drew his own irresistibly 
towards them. He had to look at her. 

One glance settled it. 

Whatever he told Muriel it should not be 
the remotest approximation to the truth. 

Original from 



Rather would he perjure his soul irretrievably 
than disappoint the hopes that manifested 
themselves in that sweet, wistful face* 

** I suppose you found it too stupid for 
words ? " said Muriel, dejectedly, as he still 
kept silent. Tittenham felt sure he could 
see her lip trembling* He longed — ye gods, 
how he longed ! — for the right words to 
come, There must be something he could 
say. What had become of that graceful sen- 

hension. He had cherished misgivings of 
Captain Gugglesbury for softie time past 
The captain seemed to take an interest in 
Muriel's movements which could only be 
described as undue. 

" Oh," replied Muriel, carelessly, " he said 
he thought it was a very nice story indeed. 
But I'm afraid his opinion isn't worth much, 
is it ? " 

So, thought Tittenham, in addition to 


tence with which he had been so pleased 
the other night? Dash it, he had written it 
down and said it over countless times so as 
to be sure of getting it right. Where had it 
got to ? 

Muriel was humming, just to show that 
she was not in the least disappointed. 

li I thought Captain Gugglesbury didn't 
know what he was talking about," she re- 
marked at last. M I do think people ought 
to tell the truth when you ask them to, don't 
you ? But, then, perhaps he isn't much of 
a judge, only being in the Army/' 

"What did Gugglesbury say?" asked 
Tittenham, not without a twinge of appre- 

Digitized by OOOgle 

being a conceited fop, Captain Gugglesbury 
is a lying sycophant, is he? Very well, the 
scoundrel should be fought with his own 

" On the contrary," said Tittenham, coldly, 
" Captain Gugglesbury shows an amount 
of literary perception for which I should 
scarcely have given him credit ■ Nice ' 
seems to me rather a feeble word, though. 
I shouldn't have used it myself. ( Nice ' 
lacks point , to my mind/' 

" Do you really mean to say that you 
think my book is any good, then?" gasped 
Muriel, eagerly. 

Tittenham decided that he might as well 




make a job of the business while he was 
about it Without so much as the quiver of 
an eyelash he replied : — 

"I think it is a very remarkable piece of 
work indeed. I never remember reading 
anything quite like it before." 

exclaimed Muriel, in a tone of keen dls 
appointment. Tittenham shook his head* 

" Then I don't believe you meant a moti 
of what you said just now I " cried Muriel 
indignantly. wi You're just deceiving mt 
It's too bad of yoil ! No— ; t's no good 


Muriel clasped her hands together and 
uttered a little cry of joy. 

11 And what does the editor think of it?*' 
she asked, when she was once more able to 
speak, Tittenham looked at her wildly. He 
*■* not quite prepared for this, 

11 Why, haven't you shown it to him yet?" 


trying to explain, I sha'n't listen — so 
there ! " 

H But you must," insisted Tittenham 
u It's perfectly true that I haven't shown 
your book to the old man yet— but Vm 
going to. Oh, certainly, I'm going to ! 
Though, i t -ftJjfiElirse you mustn't take it for 






granted that my recommendation will ensure 
its acceptance." 

** But I thought you told me that they 
accepted anything you recommended ? " 
"Did I?'* 

" Yes, you did. You said they always took 
everything you recommended — very often 
without even troubling to read it themselves. " 
There came back to Tottenham's harassed 
mind dim recollections of that picture which 
he had drawn of himself for Muriel's edifica- 
tion — the power lurking behind the throne, 
the man who made and unmade writers' 
reputations. Verily, the chickens of imagina- 
tion had hurried home to roost. 

" Now, please give me a plain answer tc a 
plain question," demanded Muriel, relent- 
lessly. " There seems to me only one way 
in which I can get at your true opinion of my 
book. Are you going to recommend your 
firm to publish it ? " 

41 Certainly I am," declared Tittenham, in 
the calm, unshaken voice of the hero who 
announces his intention to lead the forlorn 
hope, though he knows that certain death 
lies before him. "And what is more," he 
added, safe in the knowledge that the age is 
past of miracles such as that which so con- 
founded the late Earl Godwin, " I shall tell 
them that if they do not accept your book 
they will be making one of the greatest 
mistakes in the whole history of publication." 
" Oh ! " cried Muriel, forgetting everything 
in the ecstasy of that supreme moment, 
"you darling I" 

The hasty attempt which she immediately 
made to explain that her apostrophe was dnly 
intended to be taken in the light of an 
involuntary tribute to the acuteness of his 
literary perception came too late. Titten- 
ham had her fast in his arms long before she 
had a chance to recant. 

Followed a delirious debate in which the 
subject of English literature took a very back 
seat. Weightier matters had first to be 
threshed out " When did you first find out 
that you cared for me ? " " Have you ever 
cared for anybody else ? " " Are you quite 
sure that you really and truly love me more 
than anybody else in the whole world?" 
These are questions not to be burked. 

For one long, happy hour the weight of 
Muriel's diabolical novel was lifted from 
her lover's mind. Not till the oft-deferred 
moment for his departure arrived did she get 
back to the subject. 

" You'll show my little book to them soon, 
won't you?" she cooed, as Tittenham held 
her in his arms for the antepenultimate kiss. 

VoL xlL-«. 


The sun disappeared straijMB^ behind a 
bank of impenetrable cloud. Oiill vapours 
of autumn seemed in a moment to fill the 

" Soon, very soon, my darling," murmured 
Tittenham, trying to say the words as he 
imagined Mr. Lewis Waller would have said 
them. He kissed Muriel gently on the brow 
as an earnest of the sincerity of his intentions. 

Muriel, however, was not to be fobbed off 
either with kisses on the brow or an indifferent 
imitation of a matinee idol. 

" To - morrow ? " she gently persisted. 
Tittenham pursed his lips in thought. 

" I'm afraid to-morrow is the old man's 
busy day, my own," 

" What about the day after, then ? " 

Tittenham could see himself being gradu- 
ally pushed into a very tight corner. 

" Don't tie me down to any particular day, 
little one," he pleaded. " Leave the matter 
to my discretion. The old man is a creature 
of moods. These moods have been the study 
of my life. To me they are an open book. 
One day his mood is to be as clay in my 
hands ; on another — granite ! Leave it to 
me to ' catch him in the bending mood. 
Believe me, I know best." 

Muriel sighed. The Fabian policy has few 
attractions for a woman who wants something. 
Apparently some slight doubts still assailed 
her mind. 

" You really are quite positive, aren't you, 
that my book is some good ? " she asked, 
looking long and steadily into his eyes. 

Tittenham immediately closed his eyes. 
Probably the sight of all this radiant beauty 
in such close proximity was a little too much 
for him. 

" Quite, quite sure," he murmured. 

When he opened his eyes again Muriel was 
still looking at him. The searching steadiness 
of her gaze had, if anything, increased. 

" You must love me very much, I think," 
she remarked, quietly. " Otherwise you could 
not possibly tell me such appalling lies." 

Tittenham started as if he had been stung. 

" Lies ! " he blustered. " Lies ! / tell you 
lies ! I don't understand you, Muriel." 

11 Oh, yes, you do," she retorted, calmly, 
shaking her head at him in grave reproof. 
" You know perfectly well that book of mine 
is the greatest nonsense you ever waded 

" I know nothing of the sort" 

"Well, I know it, anyhow." 

" Ah, that is your modesty. Authors can 

■ rarely get the right perspective of their own 

work." Quite a glow of complacency per- 





mealed Tittenham at the reflection that he had 
at last succeeded in saying something true. 

"As it happens," said Muriel, quietly, "I 
didn't write the book at all." 

For the life of him Tittenham could not 
have kept back that exclamation of relief. 

" Ah ! " Muriel's accusing finger was a 

His dear Muriel began to relent a 

"If I forgive you this time, will you 
promise never to tell me any more fibs ? * 

11 Henceforward," was the solemn answer, 
11 it shall be a case of Tittenham first ; George 
Washington also ran. By the way," H<± wen*. 

l Tirn-;NH.\M sukti;h \ i\ hi- had fli-un <rrN<;. 

pistol at his heart " You Ye glad ! Tell the 
truth — you Ye glad to hear that I didn't write 
* For the Kiss of a Woman ' ? " 

"Frankly — I am." 

" A school-friend of mine asked me to help 
her to get it published,' 1 explained Muriel. 
" It seemed to me the only hope was to put 
it into your hands/' 

"Oh, Muriel, how could you?" wailed 
Tittenham, reproachfully. "If you only 
knew the hours of anguish that awful book 
has given me ! " 

"Then how, pray, could you bring your- 
self to tull me that it was very good ? " 

" My dear Muriel," replied Tittenham, in 
a tone of intense conviction, " I really 
believe I could bring myself to do anything 
for your sweet sake." 

by Google- 

on t after Muriel had signified her forgiveness 
in the usual manner, " Fve brought that MS, 
with me* It's on the hall table. You'd 
better send it back to your little friend and 
tell her to burn it quick. It might go hard 
with her if the question of her sanity ever 
arose and that dangerous document were 
still in existence/ 1 

When he had gone Muriel sat for a while, 
silent and pensive. Then she rang for the 
servant and told her to light the drawing- 
room fire, as she felt cold. 

" As you are evidently not destined to set 
the Thames on fire, let's see what you can 
do for the chimney," she remarked, a little 
bitterly, as she pushed the bundle of manu^ 
script on to the blazing coals* 

Then she had a good cry. 

Original from 





Mr Maskelyne completes his reply to Sir Hiram. Maxim's challenge gives, for the first time, a fall e*pos£ 
of the tricks of the Davenport Brothers and of their imitators, the so-called Spiritualists— and now claims 

the challenge -money, to be paid to certain charities 



f 'A - 11 

N my previous article, which 
appeared in last month's issue 
of The Strand Magazine, 
I gave a brief history of the 
origin of the Davenport 
The brothers, as they first 
appeared In London, bore a remarkable resem- 
blance to each other, and they endeavoured to 
make themselves 
alike in every 
respect. Ira was 
undoubtedly the 
cleverer of the 
two. He had 
piercing eyes ; he 
was muscular, 
dexterous, and 
alert to a degree, 
William, the 
younger brother, 
was of a dif- 
ferent tempera- 
men t -some- 
what neurotic, not 
at all suited for 
the exciting life 
which doubtless 
hastened his 
death, For origi- 
nality, cleverness, 
and craft no per- 
formance attri- 
buted to supernatural power ever equalled 
that of the Davenports, It is generally 
believed that it was the invention of the 
father of the boys, who held a post in the 
detective department of police. 

The eldest boy was sixteen years of age 
when they commenced giving public per- 
formances. The whole scheme was cleverly 
arranged to draw the greatest amount of 
money from the public It was a double- 
barrelled show, consisting of a cabinet 
seance and a dark seance- The cabinet 
seance was arranged for public halls, and 

Digitized by GOOglC 

From a mw Lithoaranh* 

was given at the usual prices of admission 
charged for high-class entertainments. After 
a public performance an adjournment would 
be made to a smaller room, where the per- 
formance would be repeated in total darkness, 
for which a uniform charge of half a guinea 
was made. 

For eight years the Davenports toured through 
the United States and Canada, making a great 

sensation in every 
town they visited. 
Frequently they 
received very 
rough treatment, 
but their ever- in- 
creasing bank 
balance must have 
acted as a comfort- 
ing salve lor thei; 
bruised limbs* 

When the Civil 
War broke out 
even this sensa- 
tional perform- 
ance failed to 
attract, and it was 
decided to make 
a raid upon John 
Bulls breeches 
pocket. They 
arrived in London 
on September 
1 ith, 1864. The 
party consisted of the two brothers ; Mr. 
Fay , as understudy for William Davenport, 
who was frequently indisposed ; the Rev. Dr. 
Ferguson as explieator ; and Mr, H. D. 
Palmer, a well-known theatrical impresario, 
as business manager, Mr. Palmer arranged 
for the first seance to take place at the 
residence of his friend, Mr. Dion Boucicault, 
on the 28th of September, At that time Mr. 
Boucicault was in the zenith of his popularity, 
and he got together a most distinguished 
company of scientific and literary men, in- 
cluding several representatives of the Press. 




On such an important occasion the best 
performance possible would be given, there- 
fore we may justly consider it as a fair 
specimen of their work. In fact, it was 
admitted to be a most successful seance. 

The best and most detailed criticism of 
this seance was written by Mr. H. M. 
Dumphy for the Morning JPost y and it 
appeared in that paper 
the following day. I r ~ 
quote Mr. Dumphy's 
description of the per- 
formance in full : — 

At the upper end of 
the apartment was placed 
what might be called a 
skeleton wardrobe, com- 
posed of walnut- wood less 
than an inch in thickness. 
The portion in which the 
drawers of a simiilar piece 
of furniture are usually to 
be found was empty, but a 
seat or bench, perforated 
here and there with holes, 
was fitted to the back and 
ends. The doors consist 
of three panels, which 
shut inside with a brass 
bolt ; thus, when the 
middle door is open, any 
person can put his hand 
in and bolt the side doors. 
The bolt of the middle 
door was shut by some 
invisible agency from the 
inside. The Brothers 
Davenport having seated 
themselves vis-t)-vis on 
the end bench, their hands 
and feet were securely 
tied by those present, so 
as to prevent the possi- 
bility of them using those 
members. A guitar, a 
tambourine, a violin and 
bow, a brass horn, and 
a couple of bells were 
placed on the seat inside, 
and the doors were shut. 
At the top of the panel 
of the centre door was a 
diamond - shape opening 
about a foot square, with 
a curtain secured on the 
inside. Instantly on the 
centre door being closed 

the bolt was secured inside, and hands were clearly 
observed through the opening. A gentleman present 
was invited to pass his hand through the opening, 
and it was touched by the hands several times. The 
musical instruments and the bells then commenced 
making all sorts of noises and knockings, snatches of 
airs were distinctly heard, and suddenly the centre 
door was burst open, and the trumpet was thrown 
out into the room and fell heavily upon the carpet. 
The doors were subsequently closed by persons 
who, when doing so, were touched by invisible 
hands, and the noise of undoing the cords was 
distinctly heard. A moment or two afterwards 

Digitized by L*OOgle 





Tst BROTHERS DAVEHPORT nd Mr. FAT fcmttohonow 
to umooaoe tint, after » tow if tbrw jmn awn tht greater put 
cf the Continent of Europe, they heve returned eooe more, wad 
probably for the last time, to this Metropolis where they will fjfot 
a few 84mm preriooe to their depute* for the United Stater. 

Duringthdr European tew they ne*a gbva 84mtm la Fain, 
Berlin, Vienna, Moaoow, 8t Petereburgh, and nearly erary great 
Continental Capital; and hare had the honow of appearing before 
their Mejeetiee the Emperors of Franca and Roane, the Royal 
Family of PraeeU, and grant mtmbere of the most Distinguished 
Personages in Europe. Many thousand* of persons of the highest 
rank and intelligence fcaTe witnessed the astonishing experiment* 
gbeo in their presence. 

Taitwghont the Northern American States, from 1849 until 
their first visit to England in 1854, they were seen by hundred* 
of thousands of persona. 

In England, their first 8hm* was gfan in private, to a moat 
dfthjpished party of men of science and letters, who gave their 
most unequivocal testimony to the excellence and perfection of 
their experiments. 

Two 84mm of the Bnoncna DATorroxv and Mr. Fat will be 
given at 




at Eight o'clock. 

STALLS, - So. BALCONY, - St.. 





the brothers were found sitting unbound, with 
the ropes at their feet. The next illustration 
was more curious still, for, after an interval 
of perhaps two minutes, the brothers were found to 
-be securely bound with the same cords, the ends of 
the ropes being some distance from their hands. One 
of the* company present was then invited to take a 
seat in the cabinet, so as to assure himself that what- 
ever might be done could not be accomplished by the 
brothers. A gentleman having volunteered to be 

imprisoned in such iriys- 
^ tenous company* his 
hands were securely tied 
to the knees of the Daven 
ports, whose hands were 
fastened behind their 

backs by cords passed 
through the holes in the 
bench. Their feet were 
also tied together with a 
sailor's knot. A tam- 
bourine was then laid in 
the gentleman's lap, upon 
which a guitar and violin 
were placed, as also the 
trumpet and a couple of 
handbells. Any inter- 
ference with these art icles 
by the gentleman in whose 
lap they were deposited 
was rendered impossible 
by reason of his hands 
bein£ tied. He states that 
the instant the door was 
closed hands were passed 
over his face and head, 
his hair was gently pulled, 
and the whole of the 
musical instruments weie 
played upon ; the bells 
were also violently rung 
close to his face, and the 
tambourine beat time on 
bis head. Eventually, 
the musical instruments 
were flung behind him and 
rested between his shoul- 
ders and the back of the 
cabinet. During these 
manifestations one of the 
gas-burners of the chan- 
delier was lighted and 
two wax candles were 
burning in different parts 
of the room. 

Several other mani- 
festations having taken 
place in connection with 
the cabinet, Dr. Fer- 
guson explained that it 
would be desirable that the company should clasp 
hands and that the lights should be altogether 
extinguished. A small writing-table had been 
previously placed in the centre of the room, with a 
chair at either side. The musical instruments, bells, 
etc. , were placed on the table. The Brothers Daven- 
port were then manacled by the hands and feet, and 
securely bound to the chairs by ropes. A chain of 
communication (though not a circular one) was 
formed, and the instant the lights were extinguished 
the musical instruments appeared to be carried all 
about the room. The current of air which they 
occasioned in their rapid transit was felt upon the 



SHxmiio. i 



of manifestations, using their mouths largely. 
This I demonstrated in my last article. 

If severely and skilfully tied no manifesta- 
tions were attempted, but they at once set 
to work to liberate each other, which work 
frequently occupied half an hour. At one 
seance I attended they were forty minutes 
liberating themselves. The only sound from 
the cabinet was that of scuffling and strain- 
ing in getting free. Dr. Ferguson was a good 
talker, and he would endeavour to fill up the 
time. He would explain that the brothers 
were merely placid instruments of the 
mysterious force which untied them. Some- 
times it would manifest itself quickly, at 
other times adverse influences would pre- 
vent the force developing quickly. He spoke 
with such earnestness and sincerity that many 
believed him to be honest. Facts, however, 
proved that he was ** in the swim," although 
he may not have known how all the tricks 
were accomplished. 

As soon as the brothers were free Dr. 
Ferguson would say, "Now the mysterious 
power that released them will re tie them in a 
marvellously short space of time." In two 
or three minutes they would be found tied, 
apparently as securely as rope could make 
them. This appeared more wonderful because 
the ends of the rope were some distance 
from their hands, as Mr, Dumphy remarked. 












It was at this stage that the ingenious noose 
which I described in my last article was 

The noose was tied through two holes in 
the back of the seats ready to receive the 
hands. The ends of the ropes were taken 
down to the feet as shown in the illustration. 
The feet were tied together and the knees 
lashed to the cross-bars that supported the 
ends of the seats. When this was done the 
wrists could be secured with the trick noose 
in two or three seconds of time* Then 
followed the most startling manifestations. 
Dn Ferguson would request one of the 
committee to examine the knots carefully 
and seal them if he thought proper. While 
this was being done the centre door would 
be held back, screening Ira Davenport from 
view. He would liberate a hand and give 
the committeeman a smart blow upon the 
back. Before the committeeman could look 
round Ira would be securely tied. Ferguson 
would exclaim, " Thar ! Did you see that 
hand? It was a detached hand." 

The black sleeve of Ira was invisible in 
the shadow and the hand appeared detached. 
A violin and bow would now be put in the 
cabinet, with bells and tambourines. Almost 
before the centre door could be closed several 
hands would be thrust through the aperture 
and the fiddle would be played, Ira could 
scrape several tunes upon 
the fiddle. " Rory O'More " 
was a favourite one. The 
bells and tambourines would 
jingle, keeping time to the 

The centre door would 
suddenly open, the bells and 
tambourines would come 
flying out upon the stage, 
but the fiddle was always put 
carefully upon the back seat. 
A member of the audi- 
ence would then be invited 
to sit in the cabinet, as de- 
scribed by Mr. Dumphy. 
His hands were tied to the 
knees of the brothers to pre- 
vent him feeling that each of 
them had a hand at liberty 
producing the manifesta- 
tions. Mr. Dumphy omits 
to state how the cabinet 
seance ended. It was gener- 
ally by the brothers having 
a spoonful of wheaten flour 
put in each hand, when in 
rbrse or four minutes they 




faces of all present. The bells were loudly nine ; 
the trumpet made knocks on the floor ; and the 
tambourine appeared running round the room, 
jingling with all its might. At the same time, tiny 
sparks were observed as if passing from south to 
west. Several persons exclaimed that they were 
touched by the instruments, which on one occasion 
became so demonstrative that one gentleman received 
a knock on the nasal organ which broke the skin and 
caused a few drops of blood to flow. 

These manifestations having been repeated two or 
three times with nearly similar results, the Brothers 
Davenport joined the chain of communication, and 
Mr. Fay was bound in the chair. His hands were 
bound tightly behind his back, and his feet were 
firmly secured, as in the cabinet. A gentleman 
present was then asked to desire him to take orT his 
coat the instant the light was extinguished. This 
was done. A whizzing noise was heard ; " It's oft," 
exclaimed Mr. Fay ; the candle was lighted, and the 
coat was found lying in the middle of the room. 
Astonishing though this appeared to be, what followed 
was more extraordinary still. Dr. Ferguson requested 
a gentleman present to take off his coat and: place 
it on the table. This was done, the light was 
extinguished, a repetition of the whizzing noise was 
heard, and the strange coat was found upon Mr. Fay, 
whose hands and feet were still securely bound, and 
his body tied almost immovably to the chair. A 
gentleman present then inquired whether, if he were 
to place two finger- rings on the table, they could be 
transferred to the hand of Mr. F;iy. Dr. Ferguson 
said that he could not undertake that this feat would 
be accomplished, but that an essay would be made. 
The rings were deposited on the table, the candle 
extinguished, and Mr. Fay immediately exclaimed, 
" They are on my finger," and surely enough there they 
were. The owner of the rings then expressed a 
wish that they might be restored to his fingers. As 
soon as the room was darkened the musical instru- 
ments commenced their mysterious concert, and after 
an interval of about thirty seconds a gentleman (not 
the owner) exclaimed that the rings had been placed 
on his fingers. This was found to l>e the case. A 
lady next expressed a desire that a gold watch which 
she held in her hand might be conveyed to some 
distant portion of the room. Immediately afterwards 
the concert was resumed — the bells, tambourine, and 
horn became excited, and the lady exclaimed that the 
watch was gone. On the candle being lighted it was 
found on the carpet at the feet of Dr. Ferguson. One 
of the bells was also found in the lap of a gentleman 
sitting near him. 

Some doubt having been expressed as to whether 
it was possible for the Brothers Davenport to have 
moved chair and all in the darkness, so as to elevate 
the musical instruments in the air and make them 
play, another illustration was volunteered by Dr. 
Ferguson. Mr. Fay took his place among the visitors, 
holding a hand of each as before. A gentleman 
present then sat down between the Messrs. Daven- 
port, and placed his hand upon the head of each, 
while he rested either foot on the feet of the Daven- 
ports, which were placed close together in a parallel 
direction to each other. The Davenports then clasped 
the arms of the gentleman, and in this position it 
would have been absolutely impossible for one of the 
group to have moved without disturbing the others. 
This pose having been arranged to the satisfaction of 
all present, the light was extinguished, and the guitar 
was again heard as if moving in the air close to the 
faces of all present. Mr. Fay, as l>efore stated, was 
seated in a row, clasping hands with the persons right 





and left of him, while Dr. Ferguson was similarly 
placed in another portion of the room. 

With this last-named illustration the seance termi- 
nated. It had lasted rather more than two hoars, 
during which time the cabinet was minutely inspected, 
the coats examined to ascertain whether they were 
fashioned so as to favour a trick, and every possible 
precaution taken to bind the hands and feet of the 
persons whose presence appeared to be essential to the 
development of the manifestations. 

Tke Tricks Explained. 

The cabinet stance was given in semi- 
darkness. Just sufficient light was allowed 
to enable the audience to see what was 
taking place upon the stage, and the lights 
were so arranged that when the end doors of 
the cabinet were closed the brothers were in 
deep shadow. Their movements could riot 
be observed by persons upon the stage. 

Four pieces of half-inch rope, each piece 
about nine feet long, were provided for tying 
the brothers. When this was done, the 
instruments were put upon the back seat 
of the cabinet and the committee were 
requested to bolt the end doors. All the 
bolts were upon the inside. 

Then Dr. Ferguson would call special 
attention to the fact that the centre door 
would be bolted instantaneously by some 
mysterious agency. He would push the 
door to with the tips of the fingers of one 
hand, and instantaneously the bolt would be 
audibly shot. This manifestation usually 
caused considerable sensation. Mr. Dumphy 
mentions it twice in his criticism. How 
could it be accomplished ? It was absolutely 
impossible for the brothers to have liberated 
a hand so quickly. 

I saw through the trick in an instant. 
The explanation of it ought to be an object- 
lesson to scientists who set themselves the 
task of discovering trickery without the 
necessary experience. The bolt was within 
hvetve inches of William Davenport's mouth. 
Many an eminent man of light and learning 
has exclaimed " Marvellous ! " when he has 
heard me rattle the bolt of my cabinet with 
my teeth. How poor Cooke and I used to 
chuckle ! 

The reader will observe that the brothers did 
not remain long under the bonds put upon 
them by the committee, but after a few un- 
important manifestations the doors of the 
cabinet were opened and they were free, 
with the ropes at their feet. What they 
could accomplish under the original bonds 
depended entirely upon the method of tying. 

If tied unskilfully, as Sir Hiram Maxim's 
medium was, they could produce a number 





would step out of the cabinet free, with the 
flour still in their hands* 

The spiritualists accepted this test as an 
absolute proof of spirit power, They argued 
that it was impossible for men to untie knots 
with flour in their hands* Of course it was, 

our thumbs. li Home, Sweet Home," was 
our favourite duet. This I would finish with 
a cadenza and shake, holding the first valve 
down with the left thumb and shaking upon 
the second valve with my right thumb. 
The doors of the cabinet were opened 


and there was no necessity for the brothers 
to attempt it; in fact, this was the simplest 
of all their tricks. 

I could get my hands in and out of the 
trick noose almost as quickly when they 
were closed as when they were open. 

I simply put the flour upon the polished 
seat of the cabinet and wiped my hands with 
my handkerchief. When the knots were 
untied I scraped the whole of the flour into 
my left hand, dusted the seat, and returned 
the handkerchief to my pocket. I then put 
a portion of the flour in my right hand, and 
came out of the cabinet showing flour in 
both hands. My late colleague and I did a 
much betier trick under the flour test. We 
actually played a cornet duet with the flour 
ill our hands. We held tire cornets between 

our knees and manipulated the v\ 



immediately the duet was finished. Not a 
particle of flour was spilt, and the seals upon 
the knots were unbroken. We also blew 
harmonized trumpet-calls when our hands 
were securely tied behind our backs by the 
committee. The A shank and mouthpiece 
was firmly fixed into each instrument, which 
was placed upright upon the back seat of 
the cabinet. We took hold of the comets by 
the mouthpiece with our teeth, placed them 
between our knees, blew the calls, and 
returned the instruments in the same 

Mr. Dumphy's description of the dark 
stance is not quite clear I must therefore 
describe the arrangements more fully. 

The audience sat in a semicircle facing a 
small table and two light chairs. They were 
requested to hold each other's hands, and to 


6 4 


pledge themselves not to loose them during 
the intervals of darkness. The object of this 
was to prevent anyone touching the instru- 
ments as they moved about overheads and 
thus discovering the trick. Total darkness 
answered the same purpose as closing the 
cabinet doors. It 
simply concealed 
the method of per- 
forming the tricks. 
Dr. Ferguson and 
one of the brothers, 
or Mr, Fay, sat at 
either end of the 
front row ; conse- 
quently only one 
hand of each was 
held. The other 
hands were free to 
assist with the mani- 
festations. Dr. Fer- 
guson had charge 
of the candle and 

Mr. Dumphy 
says : "The 
Brothers Daven- 
port were then 
manacled by the 
hands and feet, 
and secure I y bou n d 
to the chairs by 
ropes." He dots 
not state whether 
they tied them- 
selves or were tied 
by members of the 
audience. Fortu- 
nately Mr. Dion 
Boucicault settles 
that important 
point in a letter to 
the Daily News. bein<; fui 

He says : ** Two 

ropes were then thrown at their feet, and in 
two minutes and a half they were tied hand 
and foot.' 1 This was invariably the case. 
I never knew them submit to be tied by 
the audience more than once during a per- 
formance. The trick noose would again be 
employed ; it was tied to the buck of the 
chair and the ends taken down to the feet. 
The noose was more effective when used 
in this way, as persons could get behind the 
chairs and examine it more closely than 
when used in the cabinet. It could also be 
thorough ty sealed, which made no difference 
to the trick. The manifestations were in- 
stantaneous. With their hands free they 

Digitized by K*i 

could stand up and easily move about with 
the light chairs tied to their legs. Soiw 
phosphorus grease was put upon the instru- 
ments to enable them t ' <e seen when 
moving in the dark. In total darkness it fs 
impossible to judge distance. A tambourine 

smeared with phos- 
phorus and held 
up will appear 
much farther off 
than it really is T and 
near the ceiling. 

The two con- 
federates sitting at 
the ends of the 
front row would 
hand the brothers 
telescopic rods, 
upon the ends of 
which a bell or 
tambourine could 
be fixed and moved 
about over the 
heads of the audi- 
ence, occasionally 
touching them. 

The coat trick 
appeared the most 
marvellous of the 
Mr, Fay was very 
expert at this trick. 
He would take off 
his coat and hold 
it in front with his 
right hand, his left 
hand in the noose 
behind, holding 
the loop ready to 
receive the right 
hand. He would 
rME tiuMits. the hands ca 'l " Light," and 
or flour. the instant the 

match was struck 
he would throw his coat up and the audience 
would see it falling down, Hisrigkt hand was 
behind his back like lightning, and in two or 
three seconds tied as tightly as rope could 
make it I made a great improvement upon 
this trick, and first introduced it at a private 
stance which we gave to a party of spiritual- 
ists. I allowed them to tie my coat with 
tape passed through the button-holes in the 
lapels, and seal the knot The light was 
extinguished for a few seconds only, I ex- 
claimed, "It's gone ; light !" The light was 
turned up, and I said, "You observe, my 
coat was instant 1 y taken off." Our spokes- 
man said, " Ycur coat is not off" I replied, 






*' I felt it go" ; then, looking down at myself 
in surprise, I said, "Oh, they have taken off 
my waistcoat" There it was at my feet, 
buttoned up and quite warm. It was passed 
round for examination, 

I then said, "I will request them to take 
off my coat" 

The light was extinguished again for a few 
seconds, I exclaimed, " Light; my coat has 
gone this time/' It was found upon the 
head of the gentleman 
who engaged us. He said, 
"Now wc have absolute 
proof that these men are 
powerful mediums. Maske* 
lyne didn't know whether it 
was his coat or waistcoat that 
was taken oft* I assured him 
that what they had seen was 
trickery, but could not con- 
vince him unless I explained 
the trick. When we first 
entered the cabinet my assist- 
ant, Mr, Cooke, who was very 
thin, had a trick waistcoat 
on under his shirt. 

The waistcoat was made to 
fasten up the hack. During 
the first manifestations he 
would take this waistcoat off 
and exchange it for my waist- 

coat, which he would button, fold up, and 
tuck beneath his arm under his coat, to keep 
it warm. In the meantime I had put on the 
trick waistcoat^ which I could take off instantly 
when my coat was tied. When the light was 
extinguished Cooke would put my ordinary 
waistcoat down at my feet and secrete the 
trick waistcoat under his arm. 

The illustration shows how the coat was 
taken off when tied and sealed. It was turned 



VoL *1L-B, 

by Google 


Original from 



inside out and turned back quickly when 
off. The exposure of these tricks caused con- 
siderable consternation among spiritualists, 
who then declared that we were impostors, 
not mediums. 

One more trick only in Mr, Dumphy's 
article requires an explanation, A member 
of the audience suggested that the Daven- 
ports might move about -"chair and all" — 
and produce the manifestations. He was not 
far from the mark. Dr. Ferguson was ready 
with a test to prove otherwise. It consisted 
of one of the oldest and commonest tricks of 
spirit mediums, viz., making one hand answer 
for two, A gentleman was requested to sit 
in front of the brothers, place his feet upon 
their feet> and a hand upon each of their 
heads. The brothers placed their hands 
upon his arms. The 
trick is : a person feels 
pressure upon a certain 
portion of his arms, but 
it is impossible for 
him to tell in the dark 
whether the pressure is 
produced by two hands 
with the fingers close 
together, or by one 
hand with the fingers 
spread open and occu- 
pying the same space. 
Mediums are always 
troubled with convul- 
sions before manifesta- 
lions take place, and 
they are convenient when performing such 
tricks as these. 

A medium once puzzled me with a very 
cunning trick of this class. He gave 
seances in a small room sparsely furnished. 
He allowed me to secure the door and 
window in any manner so that no one could 
enter during the darkness. He sat in front 
of me with a small table near, upon which 
were a tambourine and small bell. He re- 
quested me to place my feet 
upon his feet and both hands 
upon his head and he would 
grasp each of my forearms with 
his hands. I felt the pressure 
of his hands the whole time, and 
yet the instruments were agitated 
and moved round my head, I 
was tapped with the tambourine, 
an icy cold hand was laid upon 
my forehead, and warm lips 
pressed my cheek. It was the 
most surprising experience I had 
ever had at that time, and I failed 

to discover the trick. I felt sure that he must 
have had one hand at liberty, and that what 
I felt upon my arms were not both his hands. 
I paid him a second visit, and during the 
manifestations I moved my left arm, when 
something heavy fell from it upon the floor 
and 1 put my foot upon it. The rogue, after 
extinguishing the light, palmed a piece of 
sheet lead and bent it round my arm in 
grasping it, then gently removed his hand 
and produced the manifestations. The lead 
felt precisely like the pressure of his hand 
upon my forearm. The icy hand upon my 
forehead w*as merely the metal of the bell 
pressed gently upon It The soft, warm lips 
upon my cheeks were two of his fingers. 

The trick of this class described by Sir 
Hiram Maxim, in which his medium was held 
by a lady and gentle- 
man, was accomplished 
in the way it is illus- 
trated here. 

The medium man- 
oeuvres to get one hand 
held by the wrist; then, 
during his convulsions, 
he snatches his other 
hand away and grasps 
the hand of the sitter 
with the hand held hy 
the wrist. With one 
hand at liberty he could 
easily accomplish all 
Sir Hiram describes. 
Back - parlour 
mediums arrange the sitters round a table and 
request them to link their little fingers together. 
They sit in total darkness and sing hymns. 
The medium gradually draws the hands of the 
sitters right and left of him near each other. 

He then makes some excuse to liberate his 
right hand for a moment, and links the first 
finger of his left hand in the little finger of 
the sitter upon his right, thus getting his 
right hand at liberty, thus ; — 

by VjC 


Original from 



An experienced medium will get the dupes 
right and left of him to link their little 
fingers together and believe they are holding 
both hands of the medium. Then while 
the hymns are being sung he will get away 

from the table and produce manifestations 
round the circle, bring articles from distant 
parts of the room and put them on the table. 
Eusapia Paladino* the famous Italian 
medium, who has puzzled so many scientific 
men, is the most artful of all impostors in 
this class of trickery. I and my son were 
invited by a party of scientists to attend a 
seance given by her at Cambridge. We sat 
round a small table with our hands joined, 
I held Eusapia's left hand and my son her 
right. The room was in total darkness. 
The medium was seized with the most 
violent convulsions. She laughed hys- 
terically, squirmed, groaned, and gurgled 
in a horrible manner. She repeatedly 
snatched her hands from our grasp. She 
would seize my hand with great force and 
place it palm downwards upon the table 
and convulsively dig the tips of her fingers 
in the back of it. Whilst this was going on 
I received violent blows upon the back, and 
my arms and legs 
were pinched. 
I inquired 
of my son 
whether he was 
holding her right 
hand and re- 
ceived a reply in 
the affirmative. 
But, upon 
closely question- 
ing him after the 

by \jC 

seance, I found that she would insist upon 
grasping his fingers and moving his hand 
backwards and forwards in front of her. 
This information enabled me to discover 
the trick. She held the fingers of my son's 
hand with the ends of her fingers 
projecting, which she dug into 
the back of my right hand, as 
illustrated at the foot of this page, 
At a subsequent seance Eusa- 
pia was caught whilst working 
this fraud 


In these explanations I have 
propounded no theories, but given 
facts discovered during personal 
contact with the mediums, and 
I have reproduced their tricks 
with the greatest success. A 
reference to the Press criticisms 
of the Davenport Brothers and those of my 
own published at the same period proves 
that I reproduced every item of their per- 
formance to the smallest detail, and greatly 
improved many of their tricks. Yet Sir 
Hiram Maxim, who never saw the Daven- 
ports or my complete exposure of them, has 
presumed to state that I "utterly failed to 
understand or explain these tricks." Had 
this statement been made by a spiritualist I 
could have afforded to take no notice of it, 
but as it came from a gentleman with the 
reputation of Sir Hiram Maxim I felt bound 
to refute it. 

It is this fact alone; that has induced me 
to write these articles* I had reserved the 
explanation of these tricks for my biography, 
which I intend to write when I have leisure. 
I consider that I am now justified in calling 
upon Sir Hiram Maxim to withdraw the 
injurious statement he made respecting me, 
and to pay to deserving charities the twenty 

pounds he 
offered for the 
explanation of 
Mr. Fay's tricks, 
I suggest ten 
pounds to the 
Actors' Orphan 
age and ten 
pounds to the 
Rtftree Child- 
ren's Conva- 
lescent Fund, 

Original from 




Iliuatrated by Will Owen. 

sat by his fire, smoking 
thoughtfully. His life-long 
neighbour and successful 
rival in love had passed away 
a few days before, and Mr* 
Clarkson, fresh from the ob- 
sequies, sat musing on the fragility of man 
and the inconvenience that sometimes 
attended his departure. 

His meditations were disturbed by a low 
knocking on the front door, which opened 
on to the street. In response to his invita- 
tion it opened slowly, and a small, middle- 
aged man of doleful aspect entered softly, 
and closed it behind him. 

" Evening, Bob," he said, in stricken 
accents* "I thought Td just step round 

Copyright, 1910, 


to see how you was bearing up. Fancy 
pore old Phipps ! Why, I'd a'most as soon 
it had been me. A'most." 

Mr. Clark son nodded. 

w Here to-day and gone to-morrow/ 1 con- 
tinued Mr. Smithson, taking a seat. "Well, 
well ! So you'll have her at last— pore thing." 

"That was his wish," said Mr, Clarkson, in 
a dull voice. 

"And very generous of him too," said Mr. 
Smithson. " K very body is saying so. Certainly 
he couldn't take her away with him. How 
long is it since you was both of you courting 

"Thirty years come June," replied the 

"Shows what waiting does, and patience," 
commented Mr* Smithson. "If you'd been 

byW.W. J«0pigj na |f rorn 




like some chaps and gone abroad, where 
would you have been now? Where would 
have been the reward of your faithful heart ? " 
Mr. Clarkson, whose pipe had gone out, 
took a coal from the fire and lit it again. 

4i I can't understand him dying at his age," 
he said, darkly. " He ought to have lived to 
ninety if he'd been taken care of." 

"Well, he's gone, pore chap," said his 
friend. 4t What a blessing it must ha' been 
to him in his last moments to think that he 
had made provision for his wife." 

"Provision!" exclaimed Mr. Clarkson. 
44 Why, he's left her nothing but the furniture 
and fifty pounds insurance money — nothing 
in the world." 

Mr. Smithson fidgeted. "I mean you," 
he said, staring. 

"Oh!" said the other. "Oh, yes— yes, 
of course." 

"And he doesn't want you to eat your 
heart out in waiting," said Mr. Smithson. 
" ' Never mind about me,' he said to her ; 
4 you go and make Bob happy.' Wonderful 
pretty girl she used to be, didn't she ? " 
Mr. Clarkson assented. 
"And I've no doubt she looks the same 
to you as ever she did," pursued the senti- 
mental Mr. Smithson. "That's the extra- 
ordinary part of it." 

Mr. Clarkson turned and eyed him ; 
removed the pipe from his mouth, and, after 
hesitating a moment, replaced it with a jerk. 
"She says she'd rather be faithful to his 
memory," continued the persevering Mr. 
Smithson, " but his wishes are her law. She 
said so to my missis only yesterday." 

" Still, she ought to be considered," said 
Mr. Clarkson, shaking his head. " I think 
that somebody ought to put it to her. She 
has got her feelings, poor thing, and, if she 
would rather not marry again, she oughtn't 
to be compelled to." 

" Just what my missis did say to her," said 
the other ; " but she didn't pay much atten- 
tion. She said it was Henry's wish and she 
didn't care what happened to her now he's 
gone. Besides, if you come to think of it, 
what else is she to do? Don't you worry, 
Bob ; you won't lose her again." 

Mr. Clarkson, staring at the fire, mused 
darkly. For thirty years he had played the 
congenial part of the disappointed admirer 
but faithful friend. He had intended to play 
it for at least fifty or sixty. He wished that 
he had had the strength of mind to refuse the 
bequest when the late Mr. Phipps first men- 
tioned it, or taken a firmer line over the 
congratulations of his friends. As it was, 

by K: 



Little Molton quite understood that after 
thirty years' waiting the faithful heart was to 
be rewarded at last. Public opinion seemed 
to be that the late Mr. Phipps had behaved 
with extraordinary generosity. 

" It's rather late in life for me to begin," 
said Mr. Clarkson at last. 

" Better late than never," said the cheerful 
Mr. Smithson. 

"And something seems to tell me that 1 
ain't long for this world," continued Mr. 
Clarkson, eyeing him with some disfavour. 

" Stuff and nonsense," said Mr. Smithson. 
" You'll lose all them ideas as soon as you're 
married. Youll have somebody to look 
after you and help you spend your money." 

Mr. Clarkson emitted a dismal groan, and 
clapping his hand over his mouth strove to 
make it pass muster as a yawn. It was 
evident that the malicious Mr. Smithson was 
deriving considerable pleasure from his dis- 
comfiture — the pleasure natural to the father 
of seven over the troubles of a comfortable 
bachelor. Mr. Clarkson, anxious to share 
his troubles with somebody, came to a 
sudden determination to share them with 
Mr. Smithson. 

" I don't want anybody to help me spend 
my money," he said, slowly. " First and 
last I've saved a tidy bit. I've got this house, 
those three cottages in Turner's Lane, and 
pretty near six hundred pounds in the bank." 

Mr. Smithson's eyes glistened. 

" I had thought — it had occurred to me," 
said Mr. Clarkson, trying to keep as near the 
truth as possible, " to leave my property to a 
friend o' mine — a hard-working man with a 
large family. However, it's no use talking 
about that now." 

" Who — who was it ?" inquired his friend, 
trying to keep his voice steady. 

Mr. Clarkson shook his head. " It's no 
good talking about that now, George," he 
said, eyeing him with sly enjoyment. " I 
shall have to leave everything to my wife now. 
After all, perhaps it does more harm than 
good to leave money to people." 

" Rubbish ! " said Mr. Smithson, sharply. 
"Who was it?" 

" You, George," said Mr. Clarkson, softly. 

" Me ? " said the other, with a gasp. 
"Me?" He jumped up from his chair, 
and, seizing the other's hand, shook it 

"I oughtn't to have told you, George," 
said Mr. Clarkson, with great satisfaction. 
"It'll only make you miserable. It's just 
one o' the might ha' beens." 

Mr. Smithson, with his back to the fire and 




his hands twisted behind him, stood with his 
eyes fixed in thought. 

" It's rather cool of Phipps," he said, after 
a long silence; " rather cool, I think, to go 
out of the world and just leave his wife to 
you to look after. Some men wouldn't stand 
it, YouVe too easygoing, Bob j that's what's 
the matter „with you*" 

business/' said Mr, Smithson, tartly, ** Now, 
look here, Bob; suppose I get you out of 
this business, how am I to be sure you'll 
leave your property to me?— not that I 
want it. Suppose you altered your will ?" 

"If you get me out of it every penny I 
leave will go to you," said Mr. Clarkson, 
fervently. * 4 1 haven't got any relations, and 


Mr. Clarkson sighed. 

"And get took advantage of," added his 

"It's all very well to talk," said Mr. 
Clarkson, " but what can I do ? I ought to 
have spoke up at the time. It's too late 

" If I was you," said his friend, very 
earnestly, " and didn't want to marry her, I 
should tell her so. Say what you like, it 
ain't fair to her, you know. It ain't fair to 
the pore woman. She'd never forgive you if 
she found it out" 

" Everybody's taking it for granted/' said 
the other. 

"Let everybody look after their own 



it don't matter in the slightest to me who 
has it after Pm gone." 

11 As true as you stand there ?" demanded 
the other, eyeing him fixedly, 

"As true as I stand here," said Mr, Clark- 
son, smiting his chest, and shook hands again. 

Long after his visitor had gone he sat 
gazing in a brooding fashion at the fire. As 
a single man his wants were few, and he 
could live on his savings ; as the husband of 
Mrs, Phipps he would be compelled to 
resume the work he thought he had dropped 
for good three years before. Moreover, Mrs. 
Phipps possessed a strength of character that 
had many times caused him to congratulate 
himself upon her choice of a husband. 

Original from 



Slowly but surely his fetters were made 
secure- Two days later the widow departed 
to spend six weeks with a sister ; but any joy 
that he might have felt over the circumstance 
was marred by the fact that he had to carry 
her bags down to the railway station and see 
her off. The key of her house was left with 
him, with strict injunctions to go in and water 
her geraniums every day, while two canaries 
and a bullfinch had to be removed to his 
own house in order that they might have 
constant attention and company. 

" She's doing it on purpose," said Mr. 
Smithson, fiercely ; " she's binding you hand 
and foot." 

Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily. " I'm 
trusting to you, George," he remarked. 

44 How'd it be to forget to water the 
geraniums and let the birds die because 
they missed her so much?" suggested Mr. 
Smithson, after prolonged thought. 
Mr. Clarkson shivered. 
44 It would be a hint," said his friend. 
Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the 
mantelpiece and held them up. " She writes 
about them every day," he said, briefly, "and 
I have to answer them." 

" She — she don't refer to your getting 
married, I suppose?" said his friend, 

Mr. Clarkson said " No. But her sister does," 
he added. A * I've had two letters from her." 

Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly 
up and down the room. "That's women all 
over," he said, bitterly. "They never ask for 
things straight out ; but they always get 'em 
in roundabout ways. She can't do it herself, 
so she gets her sister to do it." 

Mr. Clarkson groaned. " And her sister is 
hinting that she can't leave the house where 
she spent so many happy years," he said, 
"and says what a pleasant surprise it would 
be for Mrs. Phipps if she was to come 
home and find it done up." 

" That means you've got to live there when 
you're married," said his friend, solemnly. 

Mr. Clarkson glanced round his corifort- 
able room and groaned again. " She asked 
me to get an estimate from Digson," he said, 
dully. " She knows as well as I do her sister 
hasn't got any money. I wrote to say that it 
had better be left till she comes home, as I 
might not know what was wanted." 
Mr. Smithson nodded approval. 
"And Mrs. Phipps wrote herself and 
thanked me for being so considerate," con- 
tinued his friend, grimly, "and says that 
when she comes back we must go over the 
house together and see what wants doing." 

by LiOOgle 

Mr. Smithson got up and walked round 
the room again. 

"You never promised to marry her?" he 
said, stopping suddenly. 

"No," said the other. "It's all been 
arranged for me. I never said a word. I 
couldn't tell Phipps I wouldn't have her with 
them all standing round, and him thinking 
he was doing me the greatest favour in the 

" Well, she can't name the day unless you 
ask her," said the other. " All you've got to 
do is to keep quiet and not commit yourself. 
Be as cool as you can, and, just before she 
comes home, you go off to London on busi- 
ness and stay there as long as possible." 

Mr. Clarkson carried out his instructions 
to the letter, and Mrs. Phipps, returning 
home at the end of her visit, learned that he 
had left for London three days before, leaving 
the geraniums and birds to the care of Mr. 
Smithson. From the hands of that unjust 
steward she received two empty birdcages, 
together with a detailed account of the 
manner in which the occupants had effected 
their escape, and a bullfinch that seemed to 
be suffering from torpid liver. The condition 
of the geraniums was ascribed to worms in 
the pots, frost, and premature decay. 

"They go like it sometimes," said Mr. 
Smithson, "and when they do nothing will 
save 'em." 

Mrs. Phipps thanked him. " It's very kind 
of you to take so much trouble," she said, 
quietly ; " some people would have lost the 
cages, too, while they were about it." 

" I did my best," said Mr. Smithson, in a 
surly voice. 

" I know you did," said Mrs. Phipps, 
thoughtfully, "and I am sure I am much 
obliged to you. If there is anything of yours 
I can look after at any time I shall be only 
too pleased. When did you say Mr, Clark- 
son was coming back ? " 

" He don't know," said Mr. Smithson, 
promptly. " He might be away a month ; 
and then, again, he might be away six. It 
all depends. You know what business is." 

" It's very thoughtful of him," said Mrs. 
Phipps. "Very." 

" Thoughtful ! " repeated Mr. Smithson. 

" He has gone away for a time, out of 
consideration for me," said the widow. " As 
things are, it is a little bit awkward for us to 
meet much at present." 

" I don't think he's gone away for that at 
all," said the other, bluntly. 

Mrs. Phipps shook her head. "Ah, you 
don't know him as well as I do," she said, 




fondly, " He has gone away on my account, 
I feel sure,* 1 

Mr. Smithson screwed his lips together and 
remained silent. 

" When he feels that it is right and proper 
for him to come back/' pursued Mrs. Phipps, 
turning her eyes upwards, lf he will come. 
He has left his comfortable home just for my 
sake, and I shall not forget it" 

Mr. Smithson coughed— a short, dry cough, 
meant to convey incredulity. 

" I shall not do anything to this house till 
he comes back," said Mrs, Phipps. "I expect 
he would like to have a voice in it. He 

and do as I tell you she'll begin to see it too, 
As I said before, she can't name the day till 
you ask her/ 1 

Mr. Clarkson agreed, and the following 
morning, when he called upon Mrs. Phipps 
at her request, his manner was so distant 
that she attributed it to ill -health follow- 
ing business worries and the atmosphere 
of London. In the front parlour Mr. 
Digson, a small builder, was busy white- 

"I thought we might as well get on with 
that," said Mrs- Phipps ; "there is only one 
way of doing whitewashing, and the room has 



always used to admire it and say how com- 
fortable it was. Well, well, we never know 
what is before us." 

Mr. Smithson repeated the substance of 
the interview to Mr. Clarkson by letter, and 
in the lengthy correspondence that followed 
kept him posted as to the movements of 
Mrs, Phipps. By dint of warnings and 
entreaties he kept the bridegroom-elect in 
London for three months, By that time 
Little Molton was beginning to talk. 

"They're beginning to see how the land 
lays/' said Mr. Smithson, on the evening of 
his friend's return, "and if you keep quiet 

by Google 

got to be done. To-morrow Mr, Digson will 
brings up some papers, and, if you'll come 
round, you can help me choose," 

Mr. Clarkson hesitated. " Why not choose 
'em yourself? " he said at last. 

"Just what I told her," said Mr. Digson, 
stroking his black beard. " What 11 please 
you will be sure to please him, I says ; and 
if it don't it ought to." 

Mr. Clarkson started. " Perhaps you 
could help her choose," he said, sharply. 

Mr. Digson came down from his perch. 
"Just what I said," he replied. "If Mrs. 
Phipps will let me advise her, I'll make this 
Original from 




house so she won't know it before I've done 
with it." 

" Mr. Digson has been very kind," said 
Mrs. Phipps, reproachfully. 

" Not at all, ma'am," said the builder, 
softly. "Anything I can do to make you 
happy or comfortable will be a pleasure to me." 
Mr. Clarkson started again, and an odd 
idea sent his blood dancing. Digson was a 
widower ; Mrs. Phipps a widow. Could 
anything be more suitable or desirable? 

44 Better let him choose," he said. " After 
all, he ought to be a good judge." 

Mrs. Phipps, after a faint protest, gave way, 
and Mr. Digson, smiling broadly, mounted 
his perch again. 

Mr. Clarkson's first idea was to consult 
Mr. Smithson ; then he resolved to wait upon 
events. The idea was fantastic to begin with, 
but, if things did take such a satisfactory turn, 
he could not help reflecting that it would 
not be due to any efforts on the part of Mr. 
Smithson, and he would no longer be under 
any testamentary obligations to that enter- 
prising gentleman. 

By the end of a week he was jubilant. A 
child could have told Mr. Digson's inten- 
tions — and Mrs. Phipps was anything but a 
child. Mr. Clarkson admitted cheerfully that 
Mr. Digson was a younger and better-looking 
man than himself — a more suitable match in 
every way. And, so far as he could judge, 
Mrs. Phipps seemed to think so. At any 
rate, she had ceased to make the faintest 
allusion to any tie between them. He left 
her one day painting a door, while the atten- 
tive Digson guided the brush, and walked 
homewards smiling. 

44 Morning ! " said a voice behind him. 
44 Morning, Bignell," said Mr. Clarkson. 
44 When — when is it to be ? " inquired his 
friend, walking beside him. 

Mr. Clarkson frowned. 44 When is what to 
be ? " he demanded, disagreeably. 

Mr. Bignell lowered his voice. 4< You'll 
lose her if you ain't careful," he said. 
44 Mark my words. Can't you see Digson's 
little game?" 

Mr. Clarkson shrugged his shoulders. 
44 He's after her money," said the other, 
with a cautious glance around. 

" Money '{ " said the other, with an astonished 
laugh. 44 Why, she hasn't got any." 

44 Oh, all right," said Mr. Bignell. 44 You 
know best, of course. I was just giving you 
the tip, but if you know better— why, there's 
nothing more to be said. She'll be riding in 
her carriage and pair in six months, anyhow ; 
the richest woman in Little Molton." 

Vol „«_«. 

Mr. Clarkson stopped short and eyed him 
in perplexity. 

44 Digson got a bit sprung one night and 
told me," said Mr. Bignell. 4 * She don't know 
it herself yet — uncle on her mother's side in 
America. She might know at any moment" 

44 But — but how did Digson know ? " 
inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson. 

44 He wouldn't tell me," was the reply. 
44 But it's good enough for him. What do 
you think he's after? Her? And mind, 
don't let on to a soul that I told you." 

He walked on, leaving Mr. Clarkson 
standing in a dazed condition in the centre 
of the footpath, . Recovering himself by 
an effort, he walked slowly away, and, 
after prowling about for some time in an 
aimless fashion, made his way back to Mrs. 
Phipps's house. 

He emerged an hour later an engaged man, 
with the date of the wedding fixed. With 
jaunty steps he walked round and put up the 
banns, and then, with the air of a man who 
has completed a successful stroke of business, 
walked homewards. 

Little Molton is a small town and news 
travels fast, but it did not travel faster than 
Mr. Smithson as soon as he had heard it. 
He burst into Mr. Clarkson's room like the 
proverbial hurricane, and, gasping for breath, 
leaned against the table and pointed at him 
an incriminating finger. 

44 You — you've been running," said Mr. 
Clarkson, uneasily. 

44 What— what— what do you— mean by 
it ? " gasped Mr. Smithson. 44 After all my 
trouble. After our — bargain." 

44 1 altered my mind," said Mr. Clarkson, 
with dignity. 

44 Pah ! " said the other. 

44 Just in time," said Mr. Clarkson, speak- 
ing rapidly. 44 Another day and 1 believe I 
should ha' been too late. It took me pretty 
near an hour to talk her over. Said I'd been 
neglecting her, and all that sort of thing; 
said that she was beginning to think I didn't 
want her. As hard a job as ever I had." 

44 But you didn't want her," said the 
amazed Mr. Smithson. 44 You told me 

41 You misunderstood me," said Mr. Clark- 
son, coughing. 44 You jump at conclusions." 

Mr. Smithson sat staring at him. 44 I 
heard," he said at last, with an effort — 44 1 
heard that Digson was paying her attentions." 

Mr. Clarkson spoke without thought. 
44 Ha, he was only after her money," he said, 
severely. 44 Good heavens ! Whafs the 

matUrr Original from 




Mr. Smithson, who had sprung to his friends like you. It's from ^ an uncle in 

feet, made no reply, but stood for some time America on her mother's " 

incapable of speech. Mr. Smithson made a strange moaning 

iL What— is— the— matter?" repeated Mr. noise, and, snatching his hat from the table, 

Clarkson, " Ain't you well ? " clapped it on his head and made for the 



Mr. Smithson swayed a little, and sank 
slowly back into his chair again, 

"Room's too hot,'' said his astonished 

Mr. Smithson, staring straight before him, 

"As I was saying," resumed Mr, Clarkson, 
in the low tones of confidence, " Digson was 
after her money. Of course, her money 
don't make any difference to me, although, 
perhaps, I may be able to do something for 

Digitized by Gi 

door. Mr, Clarkson flung his arms around 
him and dragged him back by main force. 

41 What are you carrying on like that for?" 
he demanded, 

" Fancy ! " returned Mr. Smithson, with 
intense bitterness. " I thought Digson was the 
biggest fool in the place, and I find I've 
made a mistake. Good night." 

He opened the door and dashed out Mr. 
Clarkson, with a strange sinking at his heart, 
watched him up the road. 


"How I Wrote My 
Most Popular Song* 


By the Composers of the Favourite Songs of the Moment- 

T lias been said that no song 
can be regarded as having 
attained real [jopularity until 
it has been immortalized by 
the barrel-organ. 

Of such songs, the melodies 
of which have become the 
property of the general public, there are not 
many. Still, there exists a "small regiment" 
of popular musical successes which a very 
large percentage of the general public regard 
as real musical friends. 

" Was the composition of these successes 
the result, more or less, of accident, or was 
the song written after long and careful 
thought?" The query is, indeed, an inter- 
esting one, when one considers that the 
particular melodies which have attained 
fame have appealed in a wholesale manner 
to the inhabitants of almost every corner 
of the civilized globe. In order, therefore, 
to provide a reliable answer to this quest ion* 
we have collected the opinions of the com- 
posers of the leading musical successes. 

" Rose in the Bud." 
Misa Dorothy Forster. 

Curiously enough, I wrote my song, 
" Ruse in the Bud," to words which were 
entitled the "September Song," but, unfor- 
tun;itt:ly, I could not find out the name of 
the author of the lyrics of this song, so that 
I was in a quandary— either I should have 
to wait until the miss- 
ing author turned up, 
in order to get my 
song published, or else 
I should have to get 
the music set to other 

Life is short; and so, 
rightly or wrongly — 
I hope, in all humility, 
I may now say rightly 

— I chose the latter alternative, and asked a 
personal friend of mine, Mr. Percy Barrow, 
to write other words to my music. To be 
quite frank, I did this with fear and trem- 
bling, for I realized the difficulty the author 
of the lyrics would have to overcome to write 
new words to music which had already been 

Digitized by^OOgl^ 

set to others. Still happily, the experi- 
ment turned out to be a most successful 
one, though the paradox remains that 
" Rose in the Bud " was originally written 
to words describing a season at which those 
roses which may still happen to be eking 
out some sort of an existence are certainly 
not doing so in their first bloom of youth, 
which may, perhaps, be best described as 
"the bud state. n 

My usual method of writing a song is to 
get a "lyric" which appeals to me, think 
over every detail of how it can be best set to 
music, and there and then sit down at the 
piano and write the music. Of course, at 
first I only do this in the "rough/' though I 
seldom take more than half an hour or so 
in composing the particular melody which, in 
my opinion, is best suited to the words 
which I have selected- 

As a general rule I write my songs in the 
morning, for the simple reason that "the 
spirit moves me" to do so at that time. I 
have, however, no hard" and fast rules on the 
subject, and if, after breakfast, I find that 
the desired inspiration is not forthcoming, I 
merely hope for the best — that is to say, 
I hope that it will come along as soon ' as 
possible — and the sooner the belter. But at 
all times I endeavour to regard my work in 
as philosophical a manner as I can> for I 
am convinced that when a song-writer com- 
mences to worry because inspirations are shy, 
then his or her work must inevitably suffer. 


7 6 


" Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly ? ** 
By G W. Murpky. 

The idea for this ditty was not " struck " 
suddenly, as is usually the case with popular 
songs, but was " dug " for in a most deter- 
mined and persistent manner. 

It came about in this way. I wished to 
find a chorus craze to follow " Oh ! Oh ! 
Antonio," which many readers of The 

Strand Magazine have probably anathe- 
matized dozens of times, as barrel-organs 
have droned it out with unflinching deter- 
mination. The " lost lover " idea had been 
worked successfully in that number, and I 
was confident that I 3hould be able to use it 
again to advantage, always providing, of 
course, I could find a suitable " locale." 
" Oh ! Oh ! Antonio," I would mention, told 
a story of two Italian lovers. "Italy is a 
long way off," I thought to myself when 
trying to evolve a new melody. " I must, 
therefore, strike nearer 
home." Accordingly, 
I selected the Isle of 
Man, which, I may say, 
is probably the finest 
song-booming centre in 
Great Britain, as the 
very place in which 
to found a catchy 

" Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly ? " was the 
result, and I think I may be permitted to 
say that no song has ever attained a more 
instantaneous success, for a few weeks after 
its first bow to the public it became the rage 
of England, and is selling in thousands at the 
moment of writing. I should like to add 
that with this song, as with all the songs I 
write, I never tackled a word or note of the 
verses until I had the refrain exactly to my 
liking. To find a refrain which will go with 
a swing is the secret of success in popular 
song-writing, for the general public — many 

of whom are probably not particularly 
" musical " in the strict sense of the word — 
must have a melody in which "something 
sticks out," so to speak. Hum over some of the 
most popular songs of recent years, and you 
will find that each and every one possesses a 
sort of " lifebuoy " bump which enables even 
the most unmusical to " land it " successfully. 

** Awake. 
By H. G. Pclissier, 

A becoming sense of modesty compels me 
to say at once that the words of " Awake " 
were written by Sir William Davenant many 
years ago — before I was born, in fact. When 
thinking out the song I made up my mind to 
do something striking, and after I had done 
so the melody came into my head. That, I 
would mention, was before "The Follies" 
had degenerated into their present state of 
success. Still, my musical publishers tell me 
that " Awake " sells better to-day than ever it 
did, and so I have a sort of an idea that I 
must have succeeded in my object 

My favourite time for writing is any time, 
when the idea occurs to me that I have 
something to write about. In thinking out 
" Awake," I remember that the words were 
running through my brain one evening when 
1 felt particularly wide awake, so I at once 
sat down and rattled it off. Nothing very 
romantic about this, is there ? But it is the 
truth, a very rare commodity in these days. 

By the way, some of my best compositions 
have been perpetrated between 2 a.m. and 
3 a.m., or 8 a.m. and 9 a.m., but really I 

have no rule, so far as my musical inspirations 
are concerned ; night is the same as day, and 
vice vtrsd. I have occasionally produced 
results which have proved satisfactory to my 
audience and my publishers in my motor- 
car on the way to Brighton. 

" Let's All Go Down tke Strand," 
By Harry Castling and 

CW. MurpLy. 

Before we wrote "Let's All Go Down 
the Strand," we had been trying for some 
weeks to hit ilfflflffrAIYi idea for a rollicking 




chorus song which would not include mention 
of the ever-popular " girl." Let us hasten to 
say at once that we are not woman-haters. 
Far from it. But at the same time we some- 
how felt that there had been too frequent 
mention of all sorts of girls in the latest 
popular successes, for the repertoire of every 
barrel-organ for yekrs past had included 
mention of some sort of girl. Thus, "Put 
Me Amongst the Girls," " I Want You to 
See My Girl," " When There Isn't a Girl 
About You Do Feel Lonely," and similar 
melodies have been dinned into the public, 
until we somehow felt sure that people must 
have got a little tired of hearing melodies 
composed to words always dealing with 
members of the opposite sex. 

On the evening on which the germ of the 
idea of this song first shyly peeped out we 
had just left the Lyceum Theatre, and Mr. 

^jlo oJl*~ JO dfkn* JL ^ ^4^V 


Murphy was making 

his way across the 

road to Waterloo 

Bridge, when I called 

him back and said, 

" Let's go down the 

Strand." The 

moment after I had 

made the remark the idea occurred to us 

almost simultaneously that the words would 

not make by any means a bad title for the 

song. We therefore tried to work out the 

notion there and then, but could not 

succeed in making much progress until we 

had added the word "all," when, to our 

surprise, both the music and words came 

to us as though we had been singing the 

refrain all our lives. 

In writing this song we set to work on 
the refrain, or chorus, first, living in the 
atmosphere it suggests, and afterwards 
constructing the verses little by little, 
taking particular care that the words 
were easy to sing with the music, and 
also that the music carried with it a 
swing which would catch the public ear at 

by L^OOgle 

" Two Eyes of Grey." 

By Daisy McGcock. 

I think I really wrote "Two Eyes of 
Grey " for the simple reason that for many 
years past so many song-writers have treated 
the public to eulogies, set to music, of blue 
eyes and brown eyes that the idea occurred 
to me that it was time grey eyes should 
receive some sort of humble recognition. 

One morning, therefore — I usually do my 
literary work in the morning — I sat down 
and wrote the words of the song, starting 
backwards, as is my wont when writing lyrics, 
and in quite a short time, after I had got 
the last line, which runs, " It breaks my heart 
to see your dear grey eyes so sad," I had 
finished the words. 

Now for the music. Very " material- 
minded " people will probably scoff at my 
remarks on this sub- 
ject. Still, a love of 
truth compels me to 
say that I honestly do 
not believe that I 
write the music of my 
songs — in any case I 
am quite unconscious 
of any originating pro- 
cess, but suddenly find 
the song is written ! 
Not a mere skeleton 
idea of the song, mark 
you, but the complete 
song in identically the 
same form in which it 
is published. I will 
not attempt to try to 
explain how this hap- 
pens, for I feel sure that 
any arguments I might use would lack con- 
viction. My own idea, however, is that I am 
the material agent for some dead and gone 
composer. In fine, I write the words and 
my ghostly collaborator writes the music. 

With" regard to " Two Eyes of Grey," I 
wrote the words at, a little hotel at Corrie, 
Arran, N.B., which, by the way, in my opinion 
is by far the most beautiful spot in this 
picturesque island. The following day I was 
out fishing alone some distance from the 
shore, when I suddenly heard the melody 
perfectly distinctly. Whence it came I know 
not ; what I do know is that I felt compelled 
to go home and write it down ! I did so, 
and to my surprise — and, I need scarcely 
say, to my delight — I found that the melody 
exactly fitted the words I had written on the 
previous day. 




It may perhaps be of interest if I say that 
the prettiest compliment that has ever been 
paid to " Two Eyes of Grey " occurred when 
a fine of one shilling was inflicted pn each 
passenger on a certain liner who made so bold 
as to even whisper the melody. This fine was 
imposed by the captain, who said that he felt 
sure that the passengers would never pay a 
return visit to his ship if people would insist 

upon humming the melody from morn to 

Those who are not familiar with the behind- 
the-scenes life of a composer probably enter- 
tain the idea that the making of melodies 
must afford pleasure to those whose lot in 
life it is to be associated with the maker of 
the said melodies. I fear, however, that such 
an idea is quite erroneous. Thus, in my own 
case, my "spirit collaborator " almost invari- 
ably commands me to compose my music late 
at night. Accordingly, when the rest of the 
household have retired to rest, I get up, bang 
away at the piano, and contrive to awake 
every living soul in the establishment, my 
poor, long-suffering husband, the servants, and 
even my dog and cat. Theoretically, no 
doubt, the composing of music suggests 
harmony in a household ; in practice, such is 
by no means necessarily the case, and more 
than once friends who have been stopping at 
my house have echoed a pious wish that it 
would have been better for all connected 
with me had I elected to take up cooking, 
or some other quiet and useful occupation, 
as a profession. 

" A^Tnapers of Love." 

By Harry Fragfson. 

the birth and growing up of " Whispers 
of Love." 

This "musical offspring" of my compo- 
sition owes its existence to the fact that some 
weeks before I made my first appearance a! 
Drury Lane in pantomime it happened that 
one night in Paris I returned home to my 
rooms in the Rue Lafayette in the small 
hours of the morning. I had had both a 
very busy day and a 
very hustling evening ; 
but, strangely enough, 
bodily fatigued though 
I was, my mind was 
still working so actively 
that I instinctively felt 
that even though I be- 
took myself to bed the 
Goddess of Sleep would 
still pass me by. 
Now there is nothing I dislike so much as 
going to bed and being unable to sleep. 
Accordingly I put on a smoking-jacket, lit a 
cigarette, threw open my sitting - room 
window looking on to the street, and sat 
down to try and smoke myself into trying 
to feel tired. 

On this particular evening Paris was, seem- 
ingly, not in one of her gayest moods, for in 
the street below there were but few passers-by, 
and, indeed, soon I could hear no sound at 
all save for the rustling of the wind through 
the branches of the trees, now almost bare of 
leaves. I smoked on and on, thinking of 
nothing particular, but merely hoping soon to 
become sleepy, when, unconsciously, I found 
myself humming a refrain suggested to me 
by the wind as it blew through the long 
avenue of trees. 

Over and over again I must have hummed 
it, the while hardly knowing I was doing so, 
until suddenly the thought crossed my mind 
that the refrain I was humming certainly did 
not altogether lack melody. 

Still with no fixed idea in my mind, I got 
up from my seat by the window, leisurely 
crossed the room, and sat down to the 

And in a very few minutes " Whispers of 
Love," or, rather, the music that was after- 

True inspira- 
tion is unhappily 
a very, very rare 
commodity, but 
" happy thoughts " 
are fortunately 
not quite so 
elusive. Hence 

M^ ^ ■^^2^ 



Or i g i na l from 




wards set to the words bearing this title, 
became a reality, and not merely an echo of 
the wind whistling around the houses and 
through the trees of the now-deserted Rue 

I TJsed to Sigk for tkc Silvery 

Moon. * 

By Hermann £. Darewski, Jun. 

Appropriately enough, the moon played 
the most important part in the bringing to 
life of my song, which, I think I may say, 
was written in most unusual circumstances. 
It came to life this way. One night the 
author of the words, Mr. Lester Barrett, 

castles in the air" as I gazed out of the 
carriage window into the stillness of the 
night. Then suddenly the sight of the moon 
reminded me of the lyric I had received. 
I took it out of my pocket and carefully 
read it over again, and as I did so the 
noise of the revolution of the wheels seemed 
to suggest a melody to me which exactly 
fitted the words of " I Used to Sigh for the 
Silvery Moon." Hastily tearing off a half- 
sheet of a letter I had received that morning, 
I at once scribbled down the music, which I 
completed within an hour. A week later the 
song was produced. I would add that but for 
that chance journey to the North of England 
I have always felt that somehow or other I 

j «»d£ *ft>- — - i*» & f^y 

WtCtfti' • • 

finding that he could not sleep, despite the 
fact that he had retired to bed at an un- 
usually late hour, decided to try to make 
himself sleepy by getting up and taking a 
stroll beneath the silvery moon. 

He, therefore, hastily slipped on a pair of 

trousers and, putting on a big overcoat to 

hide his dressing-gown, went out for a stroll. 

On this particular evening, or rather, I should 

say, morning, for it was well after midnight, 

the moon was shining unusually brightly, 

and as he gazed up at it, admiring its pale 

radiancy, the time-worn words, " One might 

as well ask for the moon," crossed his mind. 

" There's a good title for a song in that," he 

said to himself, and, returned home, he sat 

down at his desk and hastily scribbled off the 

lyrics, the title to which he gave " I Used to 

Sigh for the Silvery Moon." 

The next day we happened to meet, and, 
pulling the MS. of the lyrics out of his 
pocket, he handed it to me, saying, " See if 
you can do anything with this ; the words 
should suggest some appropriate music to 
you." Unfortunately, however, although the 
idea of the words greatly appealed to me, 
an appropriate melody was not forthcoming, 
and as I never try to force my work, merely 
composing my music when an idea occurs to 
me, I slipped the MS. into my note-book 
and, truth to tell, forgot all about it 
until a few nights later I had to go North on 
business by the midnight train. 

Try as I will I can never sleep in a train, 
and after reading an evening paper from the 
first to the last page I found myself " building 

Digitized by IjOOQ IC 

^Xyfe^^ 0£44€s£> ^d>lU*<^^l^ 

never should have hit upon a really appro- 
priate melody to fit to the words ; so, unlike 
most people, I now have not the slightest 
grievance against noisy trains — in fact, I 
rather like them. 

" I've Got a Motter." 

By Howard Taltot. 

I am perfectly sure that, in most cases, it 
is quite impossible for a composer to set 
himself regular hours at which to work, and 
invariably succeed in doing good work at 
those hours. Thus, " I've Got a Motter " — 
I am not laying claim, of course, that the 
music is good from a classical standpoint, 
but at least it would seem to be popular — 
was thought out in a most unorthodox place 
and, maybe, at a most unorthodox hour. 

From a musical point of view it owes its 
present flourishing existence to the fact that 
one evening, somewhere about the hour 
when the poet tells us that "churchyards 
yawn," I happened to meet the author of the 
lyrics, Mr. Arthur Wimperis, in the vicinity 
of the Coventry Restaurant, in Rupert 
Street, to which we at once hied. A few 
evenings before it seems that, feeling tired and 
somewhat depressed after a hard day's work, 
my friend Wimperis, in a cynical frame of 
mind, sat down and wrote lyrics on the 
subject of the advisability of having a motto 

_- 1 1 >_i 1 1 1 >.i i 1 1 r .' 1 1 




*JU— fi 9 <u *-+£*€* 

to be merry and bright at all times 
in all circumstances. 

He handed the result of his work to me. 
The delicious humour in the lines appealed 
to me at once, and after thinking the matter 
over for a short time I drove straight home, 
and in ten minutes composed the music to 
the lyrics he had given me— in waltz time ! 

I take it that most readers of The Strand 
Magazine have heard Mr. Alfred Lester sing 
" I've Got a Motter," so that it may scarcely 
be necessary to say that the expression of his 
face, and, indeed, the frame of mind suggested 
by his demeanour, is so lugubrious when he 
announces that his said motto is to be 
rollickingly, boisterously, and uproariously 
cheerful in face of even the direst adversity, 
that it is certainly not in the expected order 
of things that he should sing the lyrics of a 
song set in waltz time. Still, there it is ; and 
that whatever humour there may be in the 
notion has " caught on " is a fact for which 
I, for one — there probably are others who 
feel likewise— am extremely grateful 

I should like to add, by the way, that I 
feel sure that the widespread popularity which 
" I've Got a Motter " has achieved is very 
largely indeed due to the inimitable manner 
in which Mr. Alfred Lester renders the song. 

"An Emblem/' 

By Jack Thompson. 

The story running through "An Emblem 
is the love-story of a 
very great friend of 
mine. The woman to 
whom he had given 
his heart — or, rather, 
who had stolen his 
heart — was wealthy ; 
he was poor — almost 
poverty - stricken, in 
fact. • It so happened 
that on the occasion 
of her birthday I called 
to see her just at the 
same time as did my 
friend. She greeted 
us standing by the 

window of her drawing-room, which over- 
looked Hyde Park. On a table near by 
were a number of costly birthday gifts her 

Digitized by Google 

friends had seel 
her. Half jo* 
ingly, she timid] 
to the man wlx> 
loved her, be: 
was too poor t; 
tell his love, anc 
said : " It's my birthday to-day, you know ; I 
wonder what you are going to give me ? n 

My friend reddened slightly and fidgeted 
rather nervously — the man who is in love sc 
often reminds one of an awkward schoolboy— 
and handed her — a rose. On paper, no 
doubt, the action seems a trifle grotesque, 
but to me who knew the story it seemed per- 
fectly natural. The woman, too, understood 
quite well, for, as she fastened the rose at her 
breast, I heard her say in an undertone which 
was not meant for my ears, " I value this 
birthday present most of all, for it has told 
me a story which I might never have guessed. * 
The pathos of this tragedy of lives appealed 
to me so strongly that, on my return home, 
I sat down and put the incidents into the 
words which are now called "An Emblem." 
Originally, however, it was my idea to make 
this composition a companion song to a 
song of mine called " My Violet," and I also 
thought that I might follow it by a cycle 
song called "A Flower Cycle" — the Rose, 
the Lily, and the Violet. I was, however, 
advised that in cycles of this sort the public 
generally show a preference for one particular 
song, which naturally interferes with the sale 
of the others, and, therefore, after thinking 
the matter over, I decided that the title, "An 
Emblem," would surely fit the intention of 
the song better than the name I had 
originally intended to give to it 

When an idea appeals to me as strongly as 
does the little story told in " An Emblem, n I 
seldom find any difficulty at all in writing the 
melody, though I always prefer to write my 
own words, unless a lyric truly appeals to me. 

i m 1 1 ■ i \/ jrrtF 

a*- *~] /L**t 








Original from 



Illustrated Ly W. B. Wollen, R.I. 

HEY brought a spy into camp 
—a low -sized man, heavily 
bearded, with sullen eyes that 
lay watchfully behind the 
shaggy eyebrows — watch fu lly 
enough until we made him 
speak ; then fear drove out 
all watchfulness. His eyes danced with fear. 

a human being. War will not make a hero 
or a coward of you. That has been decided 
long ago before the war breaks out. 

And this fellow, for all his sullen eyes and 
ti^ht lips, was quick enough to tell us where 
the enemy lay when we showed him the 
business end c>r a Martini, 

Just five miles off, he said they were — 

"they brought a sfy into camp." 

War, after all, is only the acceleration of 
life, and men are human beings there as else- 
where. In fact, they are a little more human, 
perhaps — a little braver or a little more 
cowardly, as the case may be. In war you 
live quicker, you feel quicker, you act quicker, 
and — you die quicker than in other cir- 
cumstances ; but you are every " 
YoL xJL— 11 

III VUH,I V- 1 i - 

hit as much 

fifteen hundred strong — a haul to make the 
papers sing at home if we could only catch 
them. You think of the papers when you 
are at the front, just the same as you do at 
home ; in fact, you have about as little an 
idea of what a censor means as have the 

Five mileDriffimSAiSr^Ha it was close on 




midnight. By daybreak those five miles 
might have become twenty. A small scout- 
ing party was organized at a moment's notice 
— eight of us, under Captain Galloway — they 
called him captain, but he had no rank. He 
was a soldier, the man who is a soldier, who 
takes to war as a baby to its bottle. Every 
muddle in Europe has had the stirring of his 
finger, every war that has taken place over 
Lhe past thirty years has seen Galloway like 
a boy let out of school. When things are 
quiet, when there is nothing doing, Galloway 
sits in a London club overlooking Piccadilly 
and reads the papers — a fish out of water 
until the day comes when the papers en- 
large their headings with that thrilling word, 
"Trouble" — in the Far East or Near East, 
in the North, South, or West, it makes no 
matter which. Then Galloway stirs in his 
saddle-bag chair. He looks up with a smile 
on his face, as though he had read of a rise 
in stocks. The first man he meets notices 
the change in his eyes. He looks awake 
again, like some animal after a heavy meal. 

"There's going to be trouble," he says, 
cheerfully. " There's bound to be a mess," 
and the next morning Galloway is gone. For 
months his chair at the club is empty, until 
one day he strolls quietly m back, weather- 
burnt to the roots of his hair, bites through a 
cigar, and conceals himself once more behind 
his paper. This is Galloway, the man who 
led our little scouting-party that night. 

It was nasty weather. A wet moon had 
ridden up under a bank of clouds that 
stretched down without a break to the west 
horizon. By that time we were well started. 
The night was as black as the heart of a coal- 
pit. I could just see my horse's ears, prick- 
ing in the darkness at the slightest noise; 
three feet beyond his head and it was like a 

We rode on in silence, picking our way 
like a woman over a muddy street. Some- 
times a horse would stumble, a man would 
curse, and Galloway would grunt with amuse- 
ment. He found no amusement in it after 
we had covered a mile or so. He cursed 
them then himself for clumsiness. He had 
every right to. He never took a false step 
himself. The man to command is the man 
who can implicitly obey. 

" For all you know, this place is infested 
with these fellows, sleeping with their one eye 

They could not help the state of the 
ground, poor beggars j it was bad enough to 
be out on a night like that. But when a horse 
stumbled once more there was dead silence. 

Digitized by Lit 

Once I looked at Galloway, staring out with 
eyes screwed like gimlets into the darkness, 
and I saw him grin. When there was any- 
thing doing in the daylight he was a man 
who chewed oaths as an ostler chews 

We had ridden for an hour, and if we had 
covered four miles we had done well. I hardly 
think that there were four miles in it. You 
can make little more than the pace of a snail 
over ground that is like the inside of a quarry 
and on a night as black as pitch. Anyhow, 
we had ridden an hour when Galloway's horse 
threw up its head and stopped short. We all 
drew in behind him like sheep driven into a 

" What is it ? " somebody whispered. 

Galloway said nothing. He just leaned 
forward on the neck of his horse and stared. 
We leaned forward and stared too. When 
they don't know what they're at, men are just 
as much fools as sheep. They follow their 
leader. It looks as if they knew what they 
were doing. We could see nothing. 

Presently Galloway sat up. 

" Dismount," he said quietly, under his 

We slid off. One of the men was 
dispatched to look after the horses, and 
the rest of us crept forward with every sense 

Galloway had seen something. It was like 
him not to say what it was. Presently, after 
a few steps, a great wall, blacker than the 
blackness, jumped up in front of our eyes 
out of nowhere. 

" It's a farmhouse," I said. 

Galloway grinned at my observation. 

There it was, a flat-faced building, two- 
storeyed, stretching along the breadth of one 
room, with outhouses and sheds at either 
side. There was not a light in the windows, 
not a sign of habitation about the place. It 
looked as deserted as a graveyard in winter. 

" There's not a soul in it," said I, and the 
next second I would sooner not have made 
the remark. 

"Just run over it, then," said Galloway; 
"they hide in these places like rats. Hurry 

I stepped forward at once, trying to hide 
my reluctance. Over a job like this, if you 
can conceal your feelings, you may be satis- 
fied. I did not like it ; but you can't say so, 
even in the sense of a joke, to a man who 
has passed his apprenticeship on jobs of that 
kind, and thinks as little of it as looking over 
a new flat in Kensington. 

When I found the door locked I felt the 





blood in my face tingling quickly, I appealed 
to Galloway. 

" Shoot it," he replied, laconically. 

I pulled out rny revolver, pushed the nose 
of it into the keyhole, and fired. The noise 
was a relief, but I took the precaution to 
stand aside as the door swung open on a 
creaking hinge. There was not a sound, 
When the echoes of my shot had died away 
through the house, like mice scampering over 
bare boards* the place was as still again as 
though nothing had happened, 

Then I crept in. If anything it was 
blacker than the night outside. 1 could see 
nothing, hear nothing, yet the place seemed 
full oflisteners* 

"They hide in these places like rats." 

Digitized by C^OOglC 

Those words of Galloway's supplied my mind 
with a thousand phantoms of imagination. I 
tried to look about in the darkness. It was 
useless. I had not those eyes of Galloway's. 
There was some satisfaction in thinking that 
if any poor wretch were in hiding, lie could as 
little see me as I him, Hut then I had not 
been sent to play at hide-and-seek. If any- 
one were there, I had to rout him out* 

My hand, as though obeying a command 
by some other will than my own, felt in a 
pocket of my coat for matches* I drew one 
out, found a rough surface on which to 
strike it, held it there with my finger, and 

Supposing a man were waiting with rifle 
ready cocked for a s^ht of my position, 


8 4 


Then I was a dead man the moment I struck 
that match. 

It takes some time to tell all this. It 
makes one seem possessed of the hesitation 
of a coward. I hesitated right enough. I 
felt a cold sweat of fear beginning to form in 
drops on my forehead, but all the thoughts 
and decisions went through my mind with 
the speed of lightning. From the moment 
that I shot the lock to the time I struck the 
match was only a matter of seconds. 

I took a breath, dragged the thin bit of 
wood swiftly across the rough surface, and, as 
I flung it into the air, leapt on one side, 
crouching down low to the ground, every 
sense alert for that report which I made sure 
was bound to follow. There was complete 
silence. Like a rocket the match lifted, 
burnt blue, and was blown out before it 
reached the floor. 

Then the room was empty. All my appre- 
hension had been for nothing. I rose to my 
feet, feeling a fool, struck another match, and 
held it high above my head. It was the 
usual low-ceilinged farm kitchen. We had 
had many a meal in them ; many a poor 
fellow had been interrogated across the deal 
table which they all contained ; many a time 
we had left them behind us with an ominous 
curl of smoke rising up from the windows 
before they burst into flame. And not a soul 
was to be seen. There were cups and saucers 
on the table — crumbs of bread and a small 
piece of their cheese that they make in these 
places. I picked it up. It was still soft. On 
the table by the side of one of the cups was 
a drop of liquid — something they had been 
drinking — which had not evaporated. I stood 
up and listened. 

There was not a sound. Presently my eye 
caught sight of a rough, broad stepped ladder 
that led to a door high up in the wall, giving 
entrance to the rooms upstairs. I walked to 
the foot of it. 

" They hide like rats in these places." 

There was no help for it. Duty, which so 
often is an elusive matter, stares one in the 
face in times of war. There was no doubt 
about its being my duty to go up that ladder 
— and up I crept. The door at the top was 
bolted. I tried it gently at first. It creaked. 
If there was anyone inside the room he would 
have heard. You can't employ the methods 
of a burglar for these jobs. There is no such 
thing as dainty work in war. I flexed my 
muscles and went for it with my shoulder. 
Two blows — it was a matchboard door — 
and it burst open. I fell flat on my face 
into the room. It was about the best thing I 

could have done, and I had the sense to lie 
there for a moment with ears pricked, listen- 
ing—listening for nothing. There was not a 

I flatter myself I scarcely made a noise as 
I rose to my feet ; and there I stood, with a 
match ready, as I had done before, listening 
— still listening. Then, suddenly, the sweat 
broke out over me ; my heart started 
a-thumping, like the piston-rod of an old 
donkey-engine. I had heard a noise. It 
was the uneven breathing of something that 
lived ; the jerky inhalation of breath, the 
pregnant pause while the breath was held, 
then the sudden exhalation, as of someone in 
a tight corner trying to keep quiet as I. 

There was a moment before I struck that 
match. My fingers were numbed. If I was 
going to be plugged with a bullet it was such 
a cold blooded way of doing it I was com- 
pelled to give the signal for .my own execution. 

In the midst of that pause came Galloway's 
voice, impatient at waiting down below. 

14 Well, is there anyone ? " he called out. 

I made no answer. The amount of stimu- 
lation that danger brings to your wits is 
amazing. I had to strike that niatch. That 
was quite enough for me. He called out 
again. Then I struck it. 

Up it whisked into the air — a little spurt 
of blue — and I was crouching in a corner, my 
heart beating a tattoo like a band of kettle- 
drums. But no report — not even a stir. All 
my pulses were throbbing so that I could not 
distinguish the sound of breathing any longer. 
For the moment it might even have stopped. 

In another moment I had a second match 
lighted, and was gazing — like a ghost, I 
shouldn't be surprised — round an empty 
room. There were two beds, quite lately 
slept in, the clothes flung off them as though 
the owners had just got up. But as for 
human beings there were none. 

Then how about the breathing? I was 
certain of hearing that. I looked about me. 
Ah, there was another door at the far end — 
another door like the one I had just broken 
down. 1 threw my match away and stepped 
on tip toe across the room. I took a breath, 
lifted the latch, and pushed. 

This door was open. 

It seemed then the most crucial moment 
of all. Inside it was as black as pitch. It 
might have been a large room or a small one. 
I could not see an inch in front of my nose, 
and there I stood in the entrance, debating 
what to do. Well, what can you do ? I felt 
for matches. There were two more. 

" They/hi^knKkfer'rati? in these places." 




Well, then, I had to draw their teeth, and 
the sooner the better. 1 got my revolver 
ready and listened. This time the breathing 
was plainer than before. " NiffiT- nufff ! " I 
tried to locate where it was. In the darkness 
it was impossible. Wherever I turned it 
seemed to be there. This was what I had 
heard from the other room. If I could have 
located it I would have fired ; hut to fire 
meant ex[X)sure, and if I did not hit, then 
the Lord help me ! I preferred to rely on 
the march to draw his fire first 

At last I found a surface for my match, 
and, holding my revolver ready, I struck. It 

as F lay si ill in a heap in the corner, I saw 
the glow in the room of the white spit of the 
flame, yet could not see where it had come 
from. Then all was still again* 

Everything in my mind was confusion. If 
I was hit, I did not feel it. 

Immediately followed the rushing of feet, 
a couple of our fellows coming up. I could 
see the rays of their lantern striking into the 
other room as they stumbled up that shaking 
ladder. But all that time I dared not move ; 
I dared not speak ; I scarcely dared to 
breathe. My position was cramped ; I was 
tied in a knot just as I fell, my hands still 


cracked, snapping like a whip, but (3 id not 
light, I shifted my position, There was 
strategy in the cracking of that match that 
did not light. I pictured the poor wretch 
squatting in a corner, with his pistol levelled 
at the spot from which the sound had come, 
I pictured him and grinned. 

When I had found another surface for the 
friction I required I caressed the trigger of 
my shooter and struck again. 

Up went the little blue rocket as I tumbled 
111 a heap to my knees. Then there was a 
report that burst like a shell into the silence 

by Google 

gripping my revolver ready to shoot, my 
heart thumping, my eyes peering, strained 
into the darkness, prepared for the first ray 
of light to give me aim, 

At last they came, tumbling across the 
other room. The rays of their lantern stole 
in through the open door, I held a breath, 
and then, as they entered, revealing the 
whole sp:ice to my straining eyes, I saw 
that the room was vacant, In my hand 
was my revolver, still smoking* and I could 
hear my own breath rattling between my 

Original from 

Card, Autograph, & Wall Squiggles. 


l r 


ll i 

A wall sq niggle by n prisoner, 

\ T the article in out Christmas 
number on "Squiggl^s, 11 which 
has naturally given a fillip to 
this most entertaining pastime, 
mention was made of the in- 
genuity or prisoners in adapt- 
ing blots, stains, and patches 
on the wall. The late Major Arthur Griffiths, 
long an inspector of prisons, had a collection 
of photographs of squiggjes of this sort. So 
had the late Sir Walter Besant, to whom an 
admirer sent a series of views of the four 
walls and ceiling of a room in the prison at 
Portsmouth where three French officers were 
formerly confined. The exact period of their 
confinement is not known, but it is supposed 
to be between the years 1808-12. Other 
prisoners of war, to the number of several 
score, were in jail at the same time, and they 
also, in humble imitation, doubtless, of the 
artistic efforts of their superior officers, 
covered the whitewashed walls with rude 
squiggles, but these have long since been 
smothered under successive coats of white- 

by Google 

wash and the hand of Time. This latter 
tremendous personage is himself, by the way, 
an excellent fsquiigieur upon occasion, not 
only beginning, as we have seen, a sq niggle, 
but gradually finishing it quite unaided 
Thus attention has been called to a capital 
portrait of Guy Fawkes at the Tower of 
Ixmdon, which, beginning with a hat, an 
eye, and a fragment of beard, slowly evolved, 
under the influence of damp and mildew, 
until the arch -traitor stood forth unmistak- 
ably for all beholders to see. Unfortunately. 
Time, having achieved this-squiggle, himself 
destroyed it altogether 

Of the Portsmouth prison squiggles, of 
which we give five examples herewith, out 
of what are believed to have been at least 
two hundred, they are of a familiar pattern, 
and were executed on a stained and broken 
plaster wall. The dark portion in each repre- 
sents the nucleus— not, however, so dark as 
it is shown in the photograph, but of a drab 
yellow, caused by a break in the "skin" 
of the plaster. They show a considerable 

Anothcr*wat1 squiggk at Portsmouth prison. 

Original from 




The white patches on the will represem the nucleus of tht 

ingenuity, and although the draughtsmanship 
.may not be of professional quality, it is yet 
very good indeed, The chief artist appears 
to have been u Lieutenant C I)e la Vigne," 
His companions were " IX Brasseur" and 
<l A. Leroux." One can easily imagine to 
oneself the circumstances in which these 
sketches were made, and what they meant to 
the three gallant Frenchmen immured in a 
foreign jail. Probably they saw little or 
nothing for many weary months of the outer 
world, and may have been denied books 


TIIK liREfcTiMti, 
Id the origin 'J iht? patches arc of a yellow Luloiir. 

and pictures. In these circumstances their 
eyes would rest perpetually on the dis- 
figured wall, and out of its stains and cracks 
conjure up the details of men, women, 
children, and animals, and now and then trees 
and buildings. One must confess that they 
drew women oftenest — the most unpromising 
blot seemed to suggest to these gahutts 
hommt$ r deprived of the society of the fair 
sex, some feminine accessory— a hat, a shoe, 
a waist, a tress. But there is nothing remark- 
able about that. 

It is said that the Emperor Napoleon once 
coloured a map of Italy with his own hand, 
and then in a moment of caprice striped it 


j^l H 

^ " 

^H Bx. 

if a, yellow i_u!our. . 


Another prLtoncr \ w,t]| sq niggle, 

like a stocking, placed a buckle cm the instep, 
and said to one of his generals i " Rapp, you 
see the lady is about to kick Sicily," an 
anecdote which would seem to argue that the 
great soldier was not over exigent in the 
matter of feminine symmetry. 

That brilliant writer, Edgar Allan Poe, once 
described the mental process of making a 
squiggle, and the experience is probably a 
common one with many, 

" Scarce able to rest my eyes/ 3 he wrote, 
"for more than a moment upon any one 
object in the mom, because of the incessant 
motion of my head on the pillow, which 
sought to find in movement some relief 

from the fever which consumed jl I vet 

Original from ' 




remained for weeks — my only friend, whom 2 
frequently apostrophised and told my woes/' 

Of course, the spiritual visitant was partly com 
pounded of shadow and florid wall-paper pattern, 
the marks of nails, and an invalid's imagination, 
and it could scarcely survive returning health and 
the broad light of day ; but it had a basis of fact 
all the same, as many of these images have. There 
is the well known picture of two children engaged 
in placid play, which, when held at a little distance, 
represents with great vividness a human skull 
and which is constructed on the same principle 
as are many bed-chamber squiggles, 

Two other highly ingenious old card-squiggles 
are extant, in addition to those which we gave in 
our previous article. One represents a quaint 

tub; sanctuary. 

A card-Mjuiggle ba.sed on ihe three of spade*. 

became aware of shapes hidden in 
familiar things. A hundred pairs of 
eyes stared at me, a hundred mouths 
grimaced ; hut when I strove to 
encounter them they vanished, and 
only a row of hanging garments, the 
bed and window curtains, an array 
of bottles and 
glasses, the 
floral pattern of 
the wall -pajier 
met my gaze. 
At last, after 
what seemed 
hours of futile 
tossing, my in- 
t e 1 I i g e n c e 
seemed to con- 
centrate upon a 
single spot on 
the wall, a figure 
seemed to loom 
up, two eyes 
were bent upon 
mine, and a 
pale, sad face 
greeted me, I 
slept ; when I 
a woke I thought 
it would be 
gone. But no ; 
it was there still, 
and there it 

- - 
. ■ ■■■■»■' k 
■ ; 

A ear<j-5i|uig£le drawn yit tli* sevm of 


by Go 



A Stf U 10 OLE 





monastic build- 
ing with three 
openings in the 
facade, these 
three openings 
being the three 
of spades— 
quite an original 
and unexpected 
idea. Theothtr 
is Mother 
Goose and a 
flock of attend 
ant geese— 
these being 
drawn upon the 
seven of clubs. 
These tspd- 
igttSi it may b? 
remarked, are 
more than half 
a century old. 
No doubt our 



post are naturally moistened again by the 
application of water or ink, folded in two, 
and made to yield their fantastic design at 
the hands of their possessor. This design 
then furms the basis of the autograph 
squiggle* It is far more interesting, how- 
ever, to work upon a holograph " blot," 
several examples 
of which, rang- 
ing from that of 

are given 

White law 

to Mr. 





artists today can produce equally ingenious 
forms if they should apply their talents to 
the task. At all events, we will look forward 
to publishing some further card squiggles in 
an early number of this Magazine. 

There is still another capital and easily 
accessible fou n da- 
don for the popular 
squiggle, and that 
is the if autograph 
blot." Probably 
every man and 
woman of emin- 
ence has written 
his autograph for 
the purposes of the 
"autograph blot" 
times without 
number, but now 
it appears that the 
paper containing 
the autograph need 
not t>e folded in 
the presence of the 
autographer or at 
the time it w T as 
written, for dried 
autographs sent by 

MR. G. 


SQ U I OG L K — ' * A N UN CO M T ROM [ S- 1 N G M O R AL I ST* 



with, together with the squiggles formed there- 
from by an amateur artist No doubt some 

very effective ones 
could be made if 
a highly ingenious 
craftsman were to 
bend his mind to 
it, even out of the 
least promising. 
Someone has called 
a m [niggle " some- 
thing more than 
was intended," An- 
other says : Cl You 
start with an idle 
smudge on a blotter, 
and end with a life- 
like portrait of Mr. 
Booker T. Wash- 
ington ,J — a sequiiur 
as startling as any 
committed by the 
ostrich who hatched 
turtles in the fable. 


Vgl, rLL— T 

by Google 

Original from 

The Identity of Trees in Snow. 


Author of ** Life Histories &J Familiar Plants" " Some Nature Biographies" "Peeps Into 

Natures IVayi^ etc. 

Illustrated from Original Photographs by the Author, 

Fig. I* — The dog-ro*e under snow. 

Fig. 2. — Ah hough liic bUckberry. or bramble, 

possesses similar prickly, trailing branches lo those cf 

the dog-rose, yet they hold snow quite differently. 

tinctive are the 
various shrubs 
and trees in this 
respect that 
they may be 
recogni zed 
more readily 
while their 
branches are 
laden withsnow 
than when bare. 
Look at the 
ph o t ograpb 
shown in Fig. i, 
and it at once 
becomes ob- 
vious that the 
branches of 

FEATURE of a snow-covered 
landscape to which attention 
has not, to my knowledge, 
been directly called is that 
every kind of shrub and tree 
carries snow in a manner 
peculiar to itself. So dis- 

^. •-;£' '&» 

:' iV-JUiA 

. -s r . ^ - " y 


TV" ' 


m_ \ 

- • 

^^^tbw. — - 




Fig* 3. — The blackthorn, or sloe, also possesses quite a characteristic 


Or i g i n al from 


the dog-rose are conspicuously isolated from 
their immediate surroundings ; so much so 
are they, indeed, that the camera-lens is 
readily able to distinguish them from the 
other components of the hedgerow. 

Following up the idea, we turn to another 
shrub, one nearly related and of similar 

habit— namely, 
the bramble or 

Although the 
bramble (Fig, 
2) has long, 
trailing, prickly 
branches very 
similar to those 
of the dog-rose, 
yet the photo- 
graph plainly 
shows that it 
presents quite 
a different ap- 
pearance. This 
is largely due 
to the fact that 
the branches 




Fig. 4. — The hazel, or mil-tree, carries snow as li 
had been snowballed. 

are a little stronger 
in build, and, 
consequently, they 
carry broader 
masses of snow. 
Also, the bram bit- 
retains a number of 
its leaves during 
winter, and these 
appearing amongst 
the branches break 
up the lines of 
snow and prevent 
the regularity of 
appearance seen in 
the leafless 
branches of the 

Again we turn to 
another thorny re- 
lative of both the 
dog rose and the 
bramble — namely, 
the blackthorn or 
sloe (i ; ig. 3). 

A glance at the 
photograph is con- 
vincing proof that 
there need be no 
confusion between 

these three nearly-related shrubs while they 
are under snow. 

It is obvious that the blackthorn has an 
entirety different form of branches to the 
trailing ones of both the bramble and the 
dog-rose, It follows, therefore, that we should 
now compare it with another shrub whose 
branches have 
a similar bear- 
i n g. T h e 
hazel or nut- 
t ree well 
serves the 
purpose, and 
a photograph 
of it is shown 
in Fig. 4, The 
picture will, I 
think, make 
it plain that 
what appear 
to be similar 
branches pre- 
sent very dis- 
similar aspects 
when they are 
seen laden 
with snow. 

The snow- 

covered branches 
of the blackthorn 
look smart and 
orderly, almost re- 
minding one of a 
military turn - out, 
but the hazel has 
quite an unkempt 
01 casual air ; in- 
deed, the whole 
bush looks very 
much as if it had 
been randomly 

The four shrubs 
which I have now 
considered will, I 
think, show clearly 
that the various 
trees present quite 
different aspects 
when covered with 
snow. That being 
allowed, it becomes 
obvious that no 
snow-covered land- 
scapes can re- 
semble each other 
very closely unless 
the same kind of 
trees are found upon them. 

When that fact is once realized amidst 
snowy surroundings, one's eyes seem to have 
suddenly opened, for they have then grasped 
those essential features whereby we pcquire 
the power to distinguish differences of detail 
in what was previously but little more than 

an all-encom- 
passing white- 
ness. Just as 
the stranger 
in a new 
town learns 
his way about 
by noting the 
appearance of 
buildings or 
shops, so has 
the bewil- 
dered traveller 
in the snow 
regained the 
key to his 

then, the 
mean sat hand 
to recognize 

Fig* 5 + — A piece of hedgerow composed uf privet, elder, and juniper. 

Observe how the three shrubs may be distinguished at a glance by 

I he manner in which they hold the snow. 

^ M ■ ■ ., ] , K fJriqi rial .from 




the trees and shrubs with which we are 
familiar, but which arc disguised by their 
snow costumes, let us apply these means in 
a more general 

In Fig, s is 
shown a por- 
t ion of a 
snow- laden 
hedgerow, and 
a glance at 
that hedgerow 
from even a 
fair distance 
iway plainly 
reveals the 
fact that it is 
a mixed hedge 
consisting of 
three distinct 
kinds of 
shrubs ar- 
ranged in 

irregular patches; indeed, the component 
shrubs can be much more readily distin- 
guished at a distance by their snow effect 
than if their branches were free from snow. 

The hedge shown consisted for the greater 
part of privet, which bears a quantity of 


' -!h.*,jf*U 


M — »— ^^^^^— «- . w 

Fig, 6. — Snow on a holly hedge. 

Fig. 7. — The furze, or gorsc, may be readily 
distinguished from^ 

almost every scar from which a leaf has 
fallen during the previous autumn. Then 
comes a smooth mass of snow, denoting a 

juniper bush, 

, _ whose tiny 

everg reen 
leaves are so 
closely ar- 
ranged that 
they hold the 
snow in blan- 
ket fashion. 

So bya little 
with the snow 
costumes of 
the various 
shrubs one is 
enabled from 
the midst of a 
snowy field to 
glance along 
the hedgerows 
and recognize as readily the familiar elder, 
dog-rose, bramble, etc., as he would in 
summer when the flowers and leaves are 
there in all their varied hues to assist in 
the identification, a feature which, I think, 
does not always occur to those who find 

Fig, 8. — Its neigh bour, the broom, while under 

leaves during winter. Amongst it, however, 
appear two clumps of elder, whose long, leaf- 
less branches hold a little tuft of snow on 

themselves amongst snowy surroundings, 
Supposing that the hedgerow suddenly 
presents j%#\ iff Irf^f I'CflTi section of cut holly 





Fig, 9,— The wild angelica appears to bear flowers again after 
a heavy snow. 

(Fig. 6), even from the distance it may be 
recognized* At the top of the hedge the 
snow appears like a white table cover, while 
on the sides pieces appear to have fallen 
from above and got 
caught amongst the 
prickly leaves. 

When on thy 
heath in the summer- 
time it is not always 
easy to distinguish 
a patch of broom 
from one of gorse 
when viewed from 
a short distance 
away. They both 
produce branches 
bearing a bold dis- 
play of golden 
yellow flowers, and 
it generally needs a 
fairly close examina- 
tion to be abso- 
lutely sure of their 
identity* In the 
winter there is not 
the slightest diffi- 
culty in distinguish- 
ing them, even from 
quite a long distance 
away. A glance at 
Figs. 7 and 8 will 
explain the matter 
better than any 
wordy description* 

Even the herbage 
that is taller than 
the grasses bears its 
individuality. The 
wild angelica, which 

is shown in Fig. 9, pre- 
sents a good example of 
this. The angelica is a 
large member of the wild 
parsley family, the dry 
and dead stems of which 
immediately become con- 
spicuous after a snow- 
storm, owing to the little 
umbels of stalks, which 
once supported their 
flowers, holding patches 
of snow, somewhat re- 
sembling new blooms that 
have just appeared. 

The larger woodland 
trees also present dis- 
tinguishing features, and 
when in the foggy and 
frosty air they suddenly loom out in ghost- 
like forms (Fig. 10) they may be much 
more readily identified than when their 
bare branches stand clear against the sky. 


Lady Claverton s Bridge Class 




HE third lesson had been 
carefully rehearsed by Reggie 
and his coadjutor — so care- 
fully, indeed, that Lady 
Claverton at last expostulated 
on the number of hours 
which they spent closeted 
together in the library. 

"Mr. Holford seems to take a very long 
time explaining his methods to you, Myra," 
she said. " Is it all confined to bridge?'' 

"Of course it is," said Myra. " What else 
could he want to talk to me about?" 

"That is just what 1 was wondering," said 
Lady Claverton. 

The same party assembled on the following 
Friday, The Professor began his lecture by 
saying, " I have brought the hand which I 
promised to show Lady Chieveley. Here it 
is. Our r>p[M>nents were a game and 26 up. 
We were nothing. I dealtj and my hand 
was :— - 

Hcartfr— King, tu. % 6, 4. 
Diamonds— 1 a, 4. 

Club* — ft, 15, 3. 
Spades — io T 7, 2. 

First, what did I declare?" 

" Hearts, of course/' said Mrs. Holroyd. 
"The hand is absolutely useless on any other 

"That argument might be sound at the 
score of love all, but not in such desperate 
straits as we were in. There was no pos- 
sibility of winning the game on hearts, and 
very little of saving it, unless my partner had 
a phenomenally good hand, in which case 
I preferred him to make the declaration. I 
left it, and he declared ' No trumps.' The 
two of hearts was led, and my partner's hand 
went down : — 

HcAits— Actj f. 
Diamonds— Ace, S> 6 t 5, 3* 
CIjIh— Kiug h qu«n, 
Spades— King, queen, 6, 5. 

A very good hand, but not good enough 
to win the game, unless something quite out 
of the common happened, I saw at once 
that my only possible chance of doing nny 
good was to induce the opponents to 
persevere with the heart suit, so I began to 
play false cards from the very first with the 
object of trying to mislead them. 

Trick 2. 



v 9J 


Tricks: AB,o;VZ, 1. 

Tricks j A B, 1 ; V Z, J. 

oy Google 

** The lead of the two of hearts showed me 
exactly how they were placed. The leader 
had the knave and another left, and the third 
player had no more. The man on my left, 
the leader, was a very good player, who 
notices the fall of every card, and I wanted 
him to think that his partner had all the 
remaining hearts. My false cards could not 
possibly lose anything, but they might gain a 
great deal, and they did. At trick three 1 
led a small diamond from dummy, hoping 
that the original leader would get in again 
He did. 

"The position 
now seemed quite 
clear to the leader. 
His partner was, from 
his point of view, 
marked with the 
three remaining 
hearts, including the 
king; therefore, 
quite rightly, he led 
the knave of hearts Tricks : A B, i ; Y Z, z* 




*o get out of his partner's way. His face, 
when his partner played void in hearts and 
1 produced the king, was a study. The next 
three tricks were: — 

Trick 5. 

Trick ia 


Tricks ; A B, 4 ; Y Z, 2. 


Tricks : A B, 3 ; V Z, 2. 

" I had an idea 
from the start that 
the fact of the leader 
opening such a weak 
suit meant that he 
had an evenly 
divided hand, and 
that he had opened 
his only four -card 
suit. This idea was 
growing on me, but 
I wanted to make 

Trick 7. 


Tricks : A B, 5 ; Y Z, 2. 

sure. I led a small spade from my own hand. 

44 Now I knew that 
my idea was right. 
The leader had the 
ace of spades, and 
he had already 
played the queen of 
diamonds ; therefore, 
he could not have 
four in either of 
those suits, or he 
would have opened 
one of them in pre- 
ference to four hearts to the knave. I could 
now count his hand. He had two spades, 
three clubs, and one diamond left. The other 
opponent, on my right, had played two spades, 
and therefore had only one left, and that one 
must be the knave, as he had played the 
nine to the last trick. I led dummy's king 
of spades, and the knave fell to it. 

Trick 9. 




Tricks : A B, 5 ; Y Z, 3. 


o o 


Tricks : A B, 6 ; Y Z, 3. 





AB, 7 


"The game now 
depended upon 
which hand the ace 
of clubs was in. It 
was on my left, and 
I made one club and 
the last spade and 
won the game. I 
have given every 
card exactly as it was 
played, and I think 

you will allow that it was a magnificent result. " 
" It was indeed," said Lady Chieveley. 
44 How I should have loved to have played 
it like that ! But I should never have dared 
to hold up that king of hearts. Why, it 
never would have made at all if the other 
side had not gone on with the suit." 

" It was the only possible chance," said 
Reggie. " Rather a desperate chance, per- 
haps, but one well worth taking. If it came 
off, I won four tricks in the heart suit If I 
won the first trick with the king, I could only 
hope to win two tricks in the suit, as I had 
no possible card of re-entry in my own hand. 
There you have the same principle again — 
thinking out the position, and forming a 
definite plan of campaign, before playing to 
the first trick. The original leader's hand 
was a very strong one : — 

Hearts — Knave, 3, 5, 2, 
Diamonds— Queen, $, 2- 
Clubs— Ace, knave, 7. 
Spades — Ace, 3, 3, 

From his point of view there seemed to be 
no possibility of losing the game, and every 
likelihood of winning it." 

"But your opponents must have played 
very badly," said Mrs. Holroyd, "to allow 
you to win it." 

" No, I do not think that that they did, ' 
said Reggie. " I venture to say that you 
yourself, Mrs. Holroyd, or any other really 
good player, would have done as they did. 
I can only tell you that they were both first- 
class players, and that they played every card 
exactly as I have shown. 

" Now, by way of a change, shall we consider 
how to defend a hand ? Hitherto we have 
only dealt with the play of the dealer. The 
play of the two hands is undeniably the most 
attractive side of bridge, but it is not 
necessarily the most important, and it is 
certainly not the most difficult. There are 
any number of players who can engineer the 
two hands to the greatest advantage, but 
there are comparatively few who can defend 
a hand really well. 

" Let us take a 4 No trump' hand first. In 
defending a * ®oi^htr^p» ' hand a great deal 


9 6 


depends upon the third player. The leader 
has to open the game blindly, and he invari- 
ably leads from his numerically longest suit. 
The third player has the advantage of seeing 
the dummy, and his play to the first trick is 
sometimes very important. The Eleven rule 
is an enormous help to him — it would almost 
seem as though it had been invented for his 
special salvation. Here is an instance of it. 
The dealer declares 'No trumps.' We will 
expose the dummy's hand and the third 
player's on the table: — 



(Third player) 

Hearts — Queen, 7, 2. 
Diamonds — 9, 5. 
Clubs — Knave, 7, 3. 
Spades — King, queen, 
8, 6, 2. 

Hearts — 10, 6, 5. 
Diamonds — Knave, 8, 4, 2. 
Clubs— Queen, 8, 2. 
Spades — Ace, 7, 3. 

" The leader opens with the six of clubs. 
The seven of clubs is played from dummy. 
What does the third player do? He applies 
the Eleven rule at once. He subtracts the 
value of the card led from eleven, and he 
finds that there are five cards only higher 
than the six, against his partner. Of these 
five he can see four, two in his own hand 
and two in the dummy. Therefore, he knows 
that the dealer has only one club higher 
than the six. What can that one card be ? 
Surely it must be either the ace or king, 
as the dealer has declared ' No trumps.' The 
old whist adage that 'Third hand plays 
high' does not apply here at all. If the 
third player puts on his queen it is won by 
the ace or king, and the knave in dummy 
blocks the suit. The third player should 
run any reasonable risk — in this case a very 
small one — in order to establish his partner's 
suit He must finesse the eight and trust to 
his reading of the situation being correct. 
If it is correct, his partner's suit is then and 
there established with the loss of only one 

" But it is quite possible that his partner 
may have led from ace and king," said Miss 
Atherley. " How silly he would look if the 
dealer won with the nine or ten ! " 

" It is certainly possible," replied the Pro- 
fessor; "but is it probable? Bridge is a 
game of probabilities, not possibilities. The 
dealer has made the 'No trump.' He has 
obviously got nothing in spades, and would 
he have declared 'No trumps' with the 
entire command of both black suits against 
him ? Surely not. He must have either 
ace or king of clubs to justify the call. 

" It is a great mistake to be frightened and 

to think t-hat the game is necessarily lost 
because your opponents declare ' No trumps. 1 
Some players make very light 'No trump' 
calls, especially since the advent of auction 
bridge. They get so used to calling ' One no 
trump ' on very little at auction bridge that 
they lose sight of the difference between the 
two games." 

"I wish you would give us a lesson in 
auction bridge," said Mrs. Heygate. U I do 
so want to know more about it." 

"I will, with pleasure," said Reggie, "if 
everybody wishes it. What do you say, ladies ? 
Shall our next lesson be on auction bridge ? * 

" I should like it, for one," said Lady 

"And so should I," said three or four others. 

" So shall it be, then," said Reggie. " Now 
let us return to defending a hand at ordinary 
bridge. The dealer will try to deceive his 
opponents as much as possible, as you saw 
in the hand which we began with to-day 
Still, he cannot avoid giving away a good 
deal of useful information to an observant 
adversary — not so much by what he does as 
by what he does not do. For instance, when 
he passes the declaration he tells you, in plain 
language, that he has not got three aces — if 
he had he would have declared ' No trumps.' 
That is the most simple of all inferences; 
but yet it is one which is often missed. 

"Here is a hand to illustrate the point 
The dealer leaves it to his partner, who 
declares hearts. The score is love-all, so the 
opponents only require four tricks to save 
the game. We turn up the dummy's hand 
and the leader's : — 

Hearts — Ace. knave, 7, 6, 2. 
Diamonds— Queen, 8, 6. 
Clubs — Queen, knave, 4. 
Spades— 7, 5. 

Hearts— King, 8, 3. 
Diamonds — King, 

knave, 4. 
Clubs — 9, 6. 
Spades— King, queen, 
10, 6, 2. 



Y Z 



" The leader opens with the king of spades 
and the game proceeds as follows : — 

Tricks : A B, 1 ; Y Z, o. 

Tricks : A B, 2 ; Y Z, o. 

"Why should you put on the king of 




trumps second in hand?" asked Lady 
Chieveley. " I should never do that." 

" It is the only chance of making two 
tricks in the suit. Your partner has obviously 
got the queen. If you play a small one 
the dealer will finesse, and your partner's 
queen will win the trick. When the dealer 
gets the- lead back into his own hand he will 
lead trumps through you again, and finesse 
again, and dummy's ace and knave are both 
good. The only possible chance of winning 
more than one trick in the suit is that your 
partner has the nine as well as the queen, 
and, in order to make that nine good, you 
must put on your king. In this instance he 
has not got the nine, but the principle is none 
the less sound. This particular combination 
is a very common one at bridge. Holding 
king or queen, with one or two others — not 
with three others — the high card ought 
always to be put on, second in hand, in such 
a case, but the players who will do it are few 
and far between. They object to condemn 
their king or queen to certain death, even in 
such a good cause. Now we go on with the 


rRICK i 



♦ ♦ 

♦ *♦! 



Tricks : A B, 3 ; V Z, o. Tricks : A B, 3 ; V Z, 1. 

" Now, how do 
you propose to save 
the game ? You want 
two more tricks. 
Your king of dia- 
monds must make, 
if you sit tight with 
it, but that is not 
enough. From the 
way in which the 
dealer has played 
the hand it looks 

as though he has a long suit of clubs in 
his own hand and may discard some of 
dummy's diamonds on them. But has he 
not told you anything? He has already 
played the ace of spades and the ace of 
clubs, therefore he cannot hold a third ace, 
and the ace of diamonds is, or ought to be, 
marked in your partner's hand as plainly as 
if you had seen it there. You should lead 
the king of diamonds ', and then the knave 

VoL xlL-i& 

Tricks : A B, 3 ; Y Z, 2. 

through the queen. Not only is the game 
safe, but, if your partner holds the ten of 
diamonds as well, you will only lose two by 
cards. A player who had not drawn any 
deduction from the fact of the dealer playing 
two aces would probably force the strong 
hand with the queen of spades. Then there 
would be disaster. The dealer would draw 
the remaining trumps, make three club tricks 
in his own hand, discarding two of dummy's 
diamonds, and would win four by cards, and 
the game. As we play it, he would only win 
two by cards. There you see the difference 
between intelligent and unintelligent bridge. 
It is really only a question of intelligence. 
There is no conjuring about it, as some 
people seem to think. The finest bridge- 
player in the world cannot win without good 
cards, any more than the Israelites of old 
could make bricks without straw. 

" That concludes our present lesson. The 
next one, as you all seem to wish it, shall be 
devoted to auction bridge." 

" I am afraid that our next lesson must be 
the last," said Lady Claverton. "We are 
leaving for Scotland on Friday. When shall 
it be ? Wednesday ? " 

Wednesday was agreed upon, and the 
meeting adjourned. 

by L^OOgle 



The bridge class duly assembled on the 
Wednesday, as arranged, and the Professor 
took up his parable for the last time. 

" Auction bridge is rather a large subject 
to deal with in one lesson. I shall not have 
time to go much into detail. All that I can 
do will be to give you a general outline of 
the principles of declaring and of the 
methods which have been proved to be 
the most successful. 

" Let us begin with the declaration by the 
dealer. There is a good deal of fashion 
about this. In the early days of auction 
bridge it was almost the universal custom for 
the dealer to open the bidding with a declara- 
tion of * One spade/ whatever the value of his 
hand might be. This system was soon proved 
to be a bad one, and then many players 
rushed into the other extreme of making a more 
valuable declaration as dealer, sometimes on 
quite inadequate strength. As in most other 
things, the middle course is the best — some- 
times to declare up to the full value of your 
hand at once, and at other times to lie low 
and to wait for your opponents to show their 
strength. It is a great mistake to always 
declare on the same lines. The player whose 

Original from 

9 8 


4 One spade ' call always means weakness and 
whose 'One no trump' always means strength 
is the easiest of opponents to defeat at auction 
bridge. Above all, you should never make a 
declaration for the sake of saying something. 
That is the most fatal of all mistakes at 
auction bridge, but it is not an uncommon 
one. c I had to say something/ says the 
irresponsible player, when he has made some 
ridiculous call which has been loyally sup- 
ported by his partner and has led to serious 
trouble. Why was he obliged to say any- 
thing? He could always pass, or declare 
'One spade' if he was dealer, but some 
players are never content to do this. They 
will declare hearts on five to a knave, or 
something of that kind, and then say that 
they had to show their partner something. 
Show your partner your strength by all means, 
if. you have got any real strength, but don't 
attempt to show him what you have not got. 

" It cannot be too often repeated that 
auction bridge is a game of aces and kings, 
not of numerical strength. What your partner 
wants to know is that you can command a 
suit — that you have got one or two high 
cards at the head of it. This information 
may be of great use to him, but it will not 
help him a bit to know that you have five or 
six small cards of one suit. The best of all 
declarations for the dealer is ' One no trump,' 
if he has any sort of pretension to make it. 
The ' One no trump ' call is the real keynote 
of auction bridge. The whole game turns on 
it It has so many and such great advan- 
tages. It forces the opponents to declare two 
tricks in either red suit in which they may be 
strong; it shuts out black suit calls alto- 
gether; and, which is most important of all, 
it prevents the opponents declaring it. The 
1 No trump ' call is the one object which the 
good player is always working for. If he 
cannot declare it himself, he tries to give his 
partner such information as will induce him 
to declare it, as by calling * Two spades/ or 
'Two clubs/ or ' One heart/ on ace, king, 
and two small ones. The significance of the 
' No trump ' call at auction bridge and at 
ordinary bridge is entirely different. At 
ordinary bridge it means a hand of a certain 
pronounced strength, capable of winning at 
least four or five tricks on its own merits. 
At auction bridge it means nothing of the 
kind. Any fairly well -defended hand — say 
with one ace and two kings — is quite 
a sound 'No trump' call by the dealer. 
At ordinary bridge the possible gain and the 
possible loss on a 'No trump' call are the 
same. At auction bridge the two are out of 

by Google 

all comparison. The gain is the greatest 
possible, and the loss is exactly the same as 
on a spade declaration. 

"The call of 'Two spades' is an extremely 
valuable one for the dealer. It means either 
very great strength in the spade suit, or 
protection in the spade suit, and considerable 
assistance outside it. This call is . a direct 
invitation to the dealer's partner to declare 
' No trumps/ and it will always be taken as 
such, therefore it must not be made without 
just cause. Ace, king, knave, to six spades ; 
or ace, king, to five spades, and the king of 
another suit are both sound ' Two spade ' calls. 
On the other hand, a long suit of spades 
without the ace or king at the head of them 
is not a ' Two spade ' call, however many there 
may be of them. Here is the same principle 
again. It is the aces and kings that matter, 
not mere numerical strength. 'Two clubs' 
should only be called by the dealer when he 
has the entire command of the suit, such 
as ace, king, queen, to six. 'One club' is 
sufficient to indicate moderate strength in the 
suit, whereas ' One spade ' indicates nothing. 

"A favourite call as dealer with some players 
is ' One heart/ or ' One diamond/ on such 
strength as five to the king, or five to the 
queen, with little or nQthing else in their 
hand ; but I am more and more convinced, 
every time that I play, that this is a bad call. 
It rarely does any good, but constantly leads 
to trouble. The danger does not lie so much 
in the original call as in your partner sup- 
porting you. Say that the opponents over- 
call you with c One no trump/ your partner, 
with queen and two other hearts and one 
other ace, will call ' Two hearts/ and what 
chance will you have of winning eight tricks 
on that hand? You will win five at the 
most, which means a loss of one hundred 
and fifty points, or three hundred if you are 
doubled. Also there is another consideration 
It is quite possible, in fact f it frequently 
happens, that one of your opponents will 
declare hearts if you keep quiet. Then the 
advantage is all on your side. Your partner 
may put them up to ' Two hearts : by calling 
1 One no trump/ or ' Two diamonds/ and 
they will have a poor chance of fulfilling 
their contract. If you take my advice, 
you will never declare a red suit as dealer 
unless you are fully prepared to call two 
tricks in it, without any assistance from your 
partner. I am quite certain that doing so is 
not a paying game." 

" I don't quite follow that argument," said 
Mrs. Heygate. " You told us earlier that the 
dealer should declare ' One heart ' on ace, 




king, and two small ones. Do you consider 
ace, king, three, two, a stronger hand than, 
say, king, ten, eight, six, four?" 

" Certainly I do," said Reggie, " for pur- 
poses of declaring at auction bridge, for giving 
information to one's partner. If you declare 
* One heart ' on ace, king, three, two, and 
your partner calls ' One no trump,' you have 
two certain tricks, two certain cards of entry, 
whereas with the other hand you may not 
have a card of entry at all. It is certain 
tricks that you want to tell him about, not 
problematical tricks after two or three rounds 
of the suit. Here again comes in the peculiar 
principle of auction bridge, the great advantage 
of aces and kings over numerical strength. 

44 So much for the opening call by the 
dealer. We will now consider the general 
bidding for the declaration. In this bidding 
you should have three definite objects in view. 
The first, and the most important, is Xq win 
the game yourself ; the second is to save the 
game; and the last, but by no means the least, 
is to get your opponents under their contract. 

"A peculiar feature of auction bridge is that 
intermediate scores, by which I mean any 
scores short of winning the game, are of very 
little value. Even if you arrive at the score 
of twenty-four you are very little better off 
than you are at love, as you may be quite 
sure that you will not be left in to make^Mie 
trick on any call, or, if you are, your oppo- 
nents must have such deplorably bad hands 
that you would win the game from love. 
Whether one side or the other scores sixteen 
or eighteen points is not worth thinking 
about. Winning the game, or saving the 
game, or defeating your opponents, are the 
only considerations that matter. If you can 
see a probability, or even a fair possibility, of 
winning the game, go for it by all means. If 
you can see no chance of winning it, then 
turn all your attention to trying to defeat 
your opponents. It is much better to leave 
them to struggle for a doubtful contract than 
to struggle for one yourself. 

" * But they would have got their contract, 
if I had left them in/ says the injudicious 
caller, when he and his unfortunate partner 
have been mulcted in a heavy penalty. 

" ' All right/ I say, ' let them get it. The 
game was safe, so what did it matter ? ' 

" That is quite a good and sufficient answer. 
Also, you must always remember that they 
are by no means certain to get their contract, 
and, if they fail, you score fifty or one 
hundred points above the line. That is 
much better than risking a loss of fifty or 
one hundred points yourself. 

by Google 

" Let us take a case in point. The score is 
love-all. Your hand is : — 

Hearts — Ace, king, io, 5, 3. 
Diamonds — 10, 7. 
Clubs— Ace, queen, 9. 
Spades— 1 o, 7, 3. 

"You call 'One heart.' Your opponents 
call 'Two diamonds.' You call 'Two 
hearts.' They go * Three diamonds. Now 
you have to ask yourself two questions : 
' Am I likely to win the game if I call 
" Three hearts " ? ' ' Are they likely to win 
the game on their "Three diamonds" call?' 
The answer to both questions must be a 
negative one. If your partner has not backed 
you up, he cannot have much strength in 
hearts ; and if he has enough in the black 
suits to give you a chance of winning 
the game, you must infallibly defeat 
the 'Three diamonds' call. The position 
really admits of no argument,' and yet 
there are many players who would call 
' Three hearts ' on this hand. Why, and 
with what object in view, I cannot imagine. 
The game is in no danger, therefore let your 
opponents struggle for their contract in pre- 
ference to entering into a doubtful one your- 
self. On such a hand, whichever side declares 
to win nine tricks out of the thirteen will 
probably lose fifty or one hundred points 
above the line, and that entails a difference 
of one hundred or two hundred points at 
the ultimate adding up of the score. A 
very serious consideration, and one which, 
in a number of rubbers, will make all the 
difference between winning and losing." 

"If you think that they will not get their 
contract you ought to double," said Mrs. 
Holroyd, "and score two hundred points 
above the line instead of one hundred." 

" It would be a dangerous hand to double 
on," was the answer. " Doubling is a powerful 
factor at auction bridge, but it must be 
exercised with judgment, and with due 
caution. There is a vast difference between 
an ordinary double, such as this, and a 
'free' double. A 'free' double is when 
your opponents have made a declaration 
which will win the game if they succeed — 
say, ' Two hearts ' at the score of sixteen, or 
'Three no trumps' at any score. In that 
case it is quite right to double on a sporting 
chance of defeating the call. Even if they 
get their contract, the extra points which you 
lose by your double are not material. When 
it is not a free double, as in the hand which 
I have quoted, the case is quite different 
On that hand they might get their Three 
diamonds/ and then your injudicious 
double will have given them the game, 

Original from 



which would be a very material and un- 
fortunate result. 

" There is yet another aspect of doubling. 
Good players sometimes use it as a bluff to 
drive their opponents out of a call which 
does not suit them into one which suits them 
better. I saw a pretty instance of this in a 
game which I was playing in myself a few 
evenings ago. The four hands were : — 

Hearts— 6, 5. 

Diamonds— Ace, king, queen, 9, 7, 2. 

Clubs — 9, 6, 3, 

Spades— 6, 4* 

Hearts — 7, 2. 
Diamonds — Knave, 

6, 4» 3- 
Clubs— Ace, king, 

queen, &. 
Spades— Knave, 5, 3. 

Hearts— Ace, knave, 

xo, 4. 
Diamonds— 10. 
Clubs— 10, 7, s, 4- 
Spades — Ace, queen, 

9, 2. 

Hearts— King, queen, 9, 8, 3. 
Diamonds— 8, 5. 
Clubs — Knave, 2. 
Spades — King, 10. 8, 7. 

"The dealer was eighteen up, and he called 
4 One heart/ The second player passed 
and the dealer's partner called ' Two 
diamonds.' The fourth player promptly 
doubled the 'Two diamonds' — not that he 
had any possible chance of defeating the 
call, but simply as a bluff, to induce the 
dealer to call 4 Two hearts,' which he had a 
good chance of defeating. It came off to 
perfection. The dealer called 'Two hearts' 
to get his partner out of the double, every- 
body passed, and the game was played at 
1 Two hearts,' with the result that the dealer 
lost a hundred points above the line." 

" But, again, why did he not double * Two 
hearts ' ? " asked Mrs. Holroyd. " You can- 
not say that this was not a free double." 

"Because he did not want the dealer's 
partner to call ' Three diamonds,' said the 
Professor. "The first double was a clever 
one, but a second would have been very bad, 
and would have given away the situation. 
Having achieved his object, he wisely sat 
tight and said nothing." 

" May one ask which of the four players 
you were ? " said Lady Chieveley. 

"That is rather an awkward question," said 
Reggie, laughing. "lam afraid I must con- 
fess that I was the dealer, and that I fell 
head over heels into the trap My only 
excuse is that I was not very sure of my 
partner, and that I rather distrusted his 
declarations. Knowledge of a partner's 
methods is an important element in auction 
bridge, and one's declarations should be 
influenced a great deal by that knowledge. 
In this particular case it was unfortunate, but 
that proves nothing. 

"That ends the lesson, ladies, and I am 


afraid it is also the end of this scries. 
Possibly, in the winter, if you are so minded, 
we might be able to arrange another course. 
It has been a great pleasure to me to give 
these lessons, and, if you have learnt any- 
thing from my poor attempts at explanation, 
I shall feel that my labour has not been in 

The ladies crowded round him, and one 
and all thanked him most warmly for what 
he had done for them. 

"I am sorry it is over," said Lady Claverton. 
" I quite enjoyed it, and I am sure that I 
have learnt a great deal. I shall not be half 
so frightened at having to play bridge as I 
was before. Thank you very much, Mr. 
Holford. We shall expect you to lunch 
to-morrow, to say good-bye to us before we 
leave London." 



By this time Myra's reserve with " the Pro- 
fessor," as she now called him, had entirely 
disappeared. Her first overwhelming fear 
that he would recognize her had quite worn 
off, and she had allowed herself to appear in 
her own true colours. The two young people 
had seen a great deal of one another during 
the last few weeks. Hardly a day passed 
without Reggie calling at the house in 
Berkeley Square under some pretext or other, 
either to take her out walking or driving, or 
to a show of some kind. He had become a 
sort of standing dish, and Lady Claverton 
had given him quite a free hand. Not that 
she did not realize what was going on — trust 
her for that — but she had made a few discreet 
inquiries about the young man's antecedents, 
and, hearing nothing to his discredit, she saw 
no reason to interfere. Not a word had been 
said as yet, but it might have been obvious to 
the most casual of observers that a crisis was 

Such was the state of affairs when our 
friend arrived to lunch on the day after the 
last lesson. Both ladies noticed at once that 
something was wrong. He was dull and 
distrait, and by no means his usual bright 
and cheery self He had evidently got 
something weighty on either his mind or his 
conscience. As soon as luncheon was over 
he got up and said : — 

" Lady Claverton, I should like to have a 
little private talk with you, if you could spare 
me ten minutes." 

ik I suppose that means that I must make 
myself scarce?" said Myra, trying to look 
unconscious, but failing signally. 

Original from 




" Come up to my boudoir," said Lady 
Claverton. " We shan't be disturbed there," 
Reggie followed her upstairs, and closed 
the dooi carefully behind him. Then he 
began to pace up and down the room, look- 
ing the picture of misery. 

44 Has Myra refused you?" asked Lady 
Claverton, looking hard at him. 

44 1 haven't given her the chance. Not that 
I think— I mean— I have not asked her. 
How can a poor wretch like me, with hardly 
enough to keep himself, let alone a wife, 
ask any girl to marry him ? I needn't 
tell you that I am frantically in love 
with Myra — you know that already. My 
dearest wish in life is to ask her to marry 
me, but how can I do it ? If only she had 
something — enough to keep herself — we 
might have rubbed along until I could earn 
something. As she has nothing, it is quite 

44 Did she tell you herself that she had 
nothing ? " asked Lady Claverton. 
44 No; but you did." 

41 1 did? Are you dreaming? I never 
told you anything of the kind." 

44 Yes, you did. The night that I first met 
you — dining at Ada Lambert's — you told me 
that she was dependent upon you for charity." 
Lady Claverton leant back on the sofa and 
hurst out laughing. Reggie looked— and 
felt — like shaking her. ' 

44 Good gracious ! " she said, as soon as she 
recovered herself. ** What a muddle ! I 
remember every word of our talk that night. 
I told you that I thought it would be 
a charity to have Myra over here, because 
she had been having such a poor time in 
America. That is not saying that she is 
dependent on charity. The word 4 charity' 
seems to have stuck in your throat. My 
good man, have you no eyes in your head at 
all ? Have you ever noticed Myra's frocks ? 
Who do you suppose pays for them ? " 

44 1 thought probably you did," said 
Reggie, sulkily. 44 1 know she is always 
nicely dressed." 

"How like a man! Nicely dressed, 
indeed ! You see a girl wearing expensive 
dresses, and plenty of them, to say 
nothing of hats and boots and other things, 
and you imagine that these are paid for by 
her friends' charity, or by Heaven or some 
other unseen power. No ; don't glare at me 
like that, and don't stalk up and down like 
a tragedy queen Come and sit down here 
by me and talk rationally, if you can. There, 

that's better Now, Reggie," putting her 
hand on his arm, " be a good boy and listen 
to me. I am very fond of Myra, and I also 
like you very much indeed, and 1 am going 
to act the fairy godmother to you both. 
Would it surprise you to hear that your 
beloved Myra is an heiress in a small way ? 
She is not a millionaire, but her father left 
her pretty well off, and she can't have spent 
it all on frocks in two years." 

Reggie jumped out of his seat as if he 
had been shot. 4 * Do you mean it ? Is that 
really true ? " 

44 Certainly it is true. I am not in the 
habit of inventing things. No, don't run 
away. I have not done yet. Sit down 
again. 1 have something else to tell you. 
This may be rather a shock to you, but you 
ought to know it. You remember the story 
that you told me about that eccentric old 
man and his son whom you met at Boston 
Well, that boy and Myra are one and the 
same person. Sit still, and let me explain 
She was absolutely devoted to her father. 
He was, as you know, a helpless cripple, so 
she took the only means " 

He could be held no longer. "Good 
Lord," he exclaimed, "that explains every- 
thing ! I knew — excuse me " — and he fairly 
bolted from the room. 

Lady Claverton gave him a liberal half- 
hour, and then went down to the library. 
She opened the door with a good deal 
of unnecessary noise and went in. There 
she found them. They jumped up — 
apparently out of the same chair— and stood 
side by side, facing her. She had no need 
to ask any questions ; one glance told her 

14 Well, my children," she said, " let me be 
the first to offer my congratulations " 

41 You darling ! " said Myra, running up 
and kissing her. 

To Lady Claverton's intense surprise, 
Reggie followed suit 

14 Well, of all the impertinence ! ' she said 
u Myra, you will have to keep him in better 
order than that when you are married r 

41 1 can spare you that one, dear," said 
Myra, sweetly. 

The following announcement appeared a 
few days later in the columns of the Morning 

A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly 
take place, between Reginald Fairlegh, second son of 
the late Colonel Leslie Holford, l6th Lancers, and 
Myra, only daughter of the late Cyrus l\ Brooking, of 
Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A. 

by Google 

Original from 

An Afri 





From Photographs by the Anther* 


HAT primitive man often 
excels his more civilized 
brethren in feats of skill is 
well exemplified by the re- 
markable dexterity shown by 
the Golah top - spinners of 
Liberia* Certain individuals 
of this primitive tribe of West African 
negroes are able to manipulate a top-like toy 
which they keep spinning any length of time 
in mid-air by 
merely striking it 
with a small whip* 

The great popu- 
larity of toys based 
on the principle of 
the gyroscope, and 
the recent com- 
mercial applica- 
tions of this prin- 
ciple in the Bren- 
nan monorail and 
as a means of 
steadying steam- 
ships, add interest 
to this primitive 
gyroscopic toy. 

For the botani- 
cal identification 
of the fruit from 
which these tops 
are made the writer 
is indebted to Mr. 
W, T. Swingle, of 
the United States 
Department of 
Agriculture, who 
points out that 
these hard-shelled, 
spherical fruits be- 
long to the genus 
Balsamocitrus, a 
very near relative 
of the ball fruits 
of India, and a 
more distant re- 
lative of the com- 
mon orange. 

These fruits may 
well be described 

as hard -shelled oranges, and their appear- 
ance may be seen in the accompanying 
photographs- They are from three to 
five inches in diameter. The shell is very 


A Liberian gyroscopic top, consisting of the fruit of a 

hard-shelled orange — It is math- to spin rapidly in 

mid- air by means of the whip. 

by Google 

hard and from a quarter to half an inch ic 

'I "he top is formed of one of the fruits from 
which the interior has been removed, together 
with a round stick about half an inch in 
diameter and eight inches in length. The 
stick passes through the centre of the fruit, 
projecting only on one side, A hole is ako 
cut in the side of the fruit, so that the top 
produces a musical sound when spinning 


The whip by 
means of which the 
top is kept in the 
air consists of a 
stalk about one 
foot in length to 
which a string 
about eighteen 
inches long, made 
from the fibre of 
the wine palm, is 
tied as a lash. 

The method of 
starting the top is 
shown in the next 
picture. The lash 
of the whip is 
wound around the 
body of the top, 
making a little 
more than one 
turn. The top is 
then placed on the 
ground with the 
stem to one side. 
The whip is given 
a quick upward 
motion, throwing 
the top into the air, 
at the same time 
imparting to it a 
spinning motion* 
As the top drops 
within reach, but 
before it touches 
the ground, it is 
struck with the 
whip in such a man- 
ner that the lash 
winds around the stem close to the head. The 
stroke is immediately followed by another 
upward motion, which again throws the top 
up and makes it revolve still faster, 

Original from 



This operation is repeated rapidly, the top 
going faster and faster with each stroke. The 
last illustration shows the top in the air. 

The performance may be likened to the 
operation of the "diabolo»* hut the skill 
required is immensely greater. The u diabolo " 
is thrown up from the middle, and the ends 
on either side of the string, being of equal 
weight, balance each other ; while in the 
Liberian toy the weight is practically all on 
one side of the place struck by the whip. 

Skilled performers have no difficulty in 
keeping the top in the air for any length of 
time desired, The performance is varied by 
catching the top on the stock of the whip 
and slowly tilting it until the end of the stick 
rests on the ground, where it spins for some 
time like an ordinary top. From this position, 
while still spinning, the top can again he 
thrown into the air by the whip and the 
whole operation repeated* 

Reiterated and patient efforts on my part 

The method of starting the top — The whip- lash is wound round the middle, and a sudden upward 

motion throws the top apmning into the air. 

When first seen it seems incredible that 
the top can be thrown up by the stem, which 
is cm one side, without twisting the top into 
another position. There can be no doubt 
that the same principle is involved as when 
a gyroscope is maintained in a horizontal 
position, although supported by only one end 
°f the axis. 

by Google 

to acquire the knack of spinning this top 
were futile. I was never able to keep it in 
the air for more than two or three strokes of 
the whip, and was never able to make it 
revolve fast enough to produce a sound. 

As soon as the top is fairly started it begins 
to emit a musical note, low at first, but 
gradually increasing in volume as the top 

Original from 



revolves more rapidly, until the speed is so 
great that the sound ceases, recurring as soon 
as the top slows down* 

The sound produced by this top is believed 
by the Golahs to be distasteful to the ground 
hogs, which often do considerable damage to 
cultivated fields. This means of driving 
away pests is considered so effective that 
men able to perform with this top are in 
great demand, and are often called a distance 

sary skill. That this man had more tlua 
ordinary ability was shown in other way?. 
His house was the best in the town, he 
could swim faster and dive farther than arn> 
one else, and he was always chosen for tb 
dangerous work of taking the big canoes 
from the upper reaches of the St. Paul River 
through the rapids to the lower riven This 
skill in aquatics was supposed to be explained 
by his having a hippopotamus for a totem. 

A native Coldh man keeping the top spinning in the air by repeated strokes of the whip. 

of two or three days' travel to rid fields of 
these pests. 

Although this top is well known through- 
out Liberia, the skill necessary to operate it 
is possessed by very few members of the 
tribe, Bwingba, the Golah man who is shown 
operating this top in the illustration, was the 
only native I met who possessed the neces- 

The almost complete lack of originality in 
the natives of West Africa and the super- 
stition regarding the use of this toy would 
indicate that the practice had been handed 
down from ancient times. While the gyro- 
scope has long been known, it seems not 
improbable that this Liberian toy may repre* 
sent one of its oldest applications. 

by Google 

Original from 





T was Caroline's birthday, 
and she had had some very 
pleasant presents. There was 
a hlotting-book of blue leather 
(at least, it looked like leather), 
with pink and purple roses 
painted on it, from her younger 
sister Charlotte j and a paint-box — from her 
brother Charles— as good as new. 

Besides the paint-box and the blotting-book, 
a tin- lined had come from India, with a 
set of carved chess-men from father ; and 
from mother some red and blue scarves, and, 
most glorious of imaginable gifts, a leopard- 

11 They will brighten the play-room a little," 
said mother in her letter And they did. 

Aunt Emmeline had given a copy of 
"Sesame and Lilies," which is supposed to 
be good for girls, though a little difficult 
when you are only twelve ; and Uncle 
Percival had presented a grey leather pocket- 
book and an olive-wood paper-knife with 
" Sorrento " on the handle. The cook and 
housemaid had given needle- book and pin 

Vol. xli -w. 

Oipvrisht, 19 ro, hy 


Illustrated by H. R. Millar. 

cushion ; and Miss Peckitt, the little dress- 
maker who came to the house to make the 
girls' dresses, brought a small, thin book 
bound in red, with little hard raised spots 
like pin heads all over it, and hoped Miss 
Caroline would be kind enough to accept it. 

"The book/' said Miss Peckitt, u was mine 
when a child, and my dear mother also, as a 
young girl, was partial to it. Please accept 
it, miss, with my humble best wishes." 

"Thanks most awfully," said Caroline, 
embracing her. 

"Thank you," said Miss Peckitt, straighten- 
ing her collar after the sudden kiss. " Quite 
welcome, though unexpected, I had a bit of 
southern-wood given to me this morning, 
which, you will find in the book, means a 

And it did, for the book was "The 
language of Flowers." And really that book 
was the beginning of this story, or, at least, if 
it wasn't that book, it was the other book. 
But that Comes later. 

The last present was a very large bunch of 
marigolds and a halfpenny birthday-card with 
a gold anchor and pink clasped hands on it 
from the boy who did the boots and knives. 

" We'll decorate our room," said Charlotte, 
"in honour of your birthday, Caro. We've 
got lots of coloured things, and 111 borrow 
cook's Sunday scarf. It's pink and purple 
shot silk— a perfect dream ! I'll fly ! " 

She flew ; and on her return they decorated 
their room ^ . 




You will perhaps wonder why they were so 
anxious to decorate their room with coloured 
things. It was because the house they lived 
in had so little colour in it that it was more 
like a print of a house in a book— all black 
and white and gre>% you know — than like a 
house for real people to live in. 

The Stan more children lived here because 
their father and mother were in India and 
their other relations in New Zealand — all 
except old Uncle Charles, who was their 
mother's uncle and who had quarrelled with, 
or been quarrelled with by, their father and 
mother in bygone years. 

The owners of the house, whose name was 
Sandal, were relations of some sort — cousins, 
perhaps. Though they were called Uncle 
Percival and Aunt Emmeline they were not 
really those relations. 

There was one thing about this so-called 
aunt and uncle — they were never cross and 
seldom unjust Their natures seemed to be 
pale and calm like the colours of their house ; 
and though the 
children had 
meat every day 
for dinner Mr, 
and Miss San- 
dal never had 
anything but 
vegetables, and 
vegetables are 
said to be 

Now India is a 
highly - coloured 
country, as you 
may have 
noticed in pic- 
tures, and the 
Stanrnore chil- 
dren felt faded 
in that grey 
house. And 
that is why 
they 1 oved 
colour so much, 
and made so 
much fuss about 
the leopard-skin 
and the Indian 
and the mari- 
gold flowers 
and the little 
old red book 
and the wreath 
of gold forget- 
me-nots outside 

it encircling the words "Language d 

" When Aunt Emmeline sees how beautify 
it is shell want to have the whole hoii^ 
scarved and Jeoparded, I shouldn't wonder/ 
said Charlotte, hanging the pink scarf over * 
picture of a blind girl sitting on an orange, 
which is called f( Hope/ 8 

"I don't suppose so," said Caroline- l " I 
asked her once what old Uncle Charles V 
house was like, that mother said was so 
beautiful, and she said it was far too full n: 
things, and somewhat imperfectly ventilated/ 
"It's a pity Uncle Charles was quarrelled 
with, /think/' said Charlotte, * 4 I shouldn't 
at all have minded going to stay with him. 
I expect really he likes nice little girls. I 
wonder what the row was all about, and why 
they didn't all kiss and be friends before the 
sun went down upon— like we're told to ? " 

I cannot tell you what the row was about, 
for I know no more than you do, or than 
Charlotte did. And you must have noticed 

that grown-up 
people's quar 
rels are very 
large and most 
mysterious. The 
Only thing you 
can find out for 
certain about 
these grown-up 
quarrels is that 
they seem to be 
always about 
money, or about 
people having 
married people 
that their rda- 
tionsdid n't want 
them to marry. 
Then some- 
one walked up 
to the front 
door. It was 
the postman. 

rushed out to 
see if there 
were any more 
birthday - cards 
for her, and 
rushed into 
Aunt Emme- 
line, who must 
have been hurt, 
because after- 
wards Caro- 
line's head was 


by Google 

Original from 



quite sore where it had banged against Aunt 
E m meline's mother - of - pearl waist-buckle. 
But Aunt Emmeline only said : — 

" Gently, my child, gently," which, as 
Caroline said later, was worse than being 
scolded, and made you feel as if you were 
elephants. And there weren't any birthday- 
cards for her, either. 

All the letters were for Miss Sandal. And 
just as the leopard-skin had been spread on 
the floor she came to the door of the chil- 
dren's room with one of the letters in her 

" I have a surprise for you," she said, as 
she sat down. " The surprise is that you are 
going into the country for your holidays." 

There was a silence, broken by Charles, 
and he only said : — 

"We needn't have bothered about deco- 
rating the room." 

"Oh, is this decoration?" Miss Sandal 
asked, as though she thought red scarves 
might get on to picture-frames and leopard- 
skins on to floors, or marigolds on to 
mantelpieces, just by accident or untidiness. 
" I may say that I have known for some 
time that this was likely to happen — but the 
letter which has just come makes everything 
settled. You are to go the day after 

" But where ? " Caroline asked And 
Miss Sandal then uttered the memorable 
and unusual words, " Did you ever hear of 
your Great-Uncle Charles ? " 

" The one that was quarrelled with ? " said 

" I did not know you knew of that. Yes. 
The quarrel is now at an end, and he has 
invited you to spend a month at the Manor 

There was a deep silence, due to the 
children's wanting to shout " Hooray ! " and 
feeling that it would not be manners. 

" I thought you'd be pleased," said Miss 
Sandal. " It is considered a very beautiful 
house, and stands in a park." 

"Are you going, Aunt Emmeline?" Caroline 

" No, dear. Only you children are invited. 
You will be quiet and gentle, won't you, and 
try to remember that your Great -Uncle 
Charles is a quiet student, and not used to 

"Oh, that's all right, Aunt Emmie," said 
Charlotte. " But who'll sew on our buttons 
and mend our stockings?" 

"There is a housekeeper, of course," said 
Miss Sandal. " I shall pack your things to- 
morrow ; and if you will decide what toys 

you would like to take with you, I will pack 
them too." 

" Yes," said Caroline, still feeling it polite 
not to look pleased. "Thank you, Aunt 
Emmeline. Only won't you be rather dull 
without us?" 

Miss Sandal smiled, which made her long, 
whitey-brown-paper-coloured face look much 

" Thank you, Caroline. Your Uncle Per- 
cival and I are also about to take a holiday. 
We are going to the Italian Lakes and to 
Venice. You may be as happy as you like 
without worrying about us." 

And it was then that the three children 
felt that politeness and sincerity might meet 
in a heartfelt shout of " Hooray ! " 

" I shall take the leopard-skin and all my 
other presents," said Caroline. 

" And I shall take the draughts and the 
spilikins," said Charlotte. 

" Mother said there were draughts made 
of ebony and ivory with lions' heads and 
mother-of-pearl spilikins in the library when 
she was a little girl," Caroline reminded her. 

" I shall take every single thing I've got, 
and my cricket set as well," said Charles. 

by L^OOgle 



You can imagine the packing, the running 
up and down stairs, the difficulty of choosing 
what to leave behind — for that is, after all, 
what it comes to when you are going away, 
much more than the difficulty of choosing 
what you will take with you. There was a 
good deal of whispered talk and mystery and 
consulting of books that morning, and Aunt 
Emmeline most likely wondered what it was 
all about. But perhaps she didn't. She 
was very calm. Anyway, she must have 
known when, as the cab drew up in front of 
the door, the three children presented them- 
selves before her with bouquets in their hands. 

" They are for you," said all three at once. 

" Thank you very, very much," said Aunt 
Emmeline. " I can't tell you how pleased I 
am. It is very sweet of you all." 

This floral presentation gave a glow and 
glory to their departure. At the very last 
moment Caroline leaned out of the window 
to say : — 

" Oh, Aunt Emmeline, when Miss Peckitt 
comes to finish those muslin frocks that 
you're going to send us, would you try to 
manage to give her a Canterbury bell from 
me? She'll know what it means. But in 
case she doesn't, it's gratitude. In the 
Original from 




book. And we'll put flowers in our letters 
expressing our feelings* Good-bye. 1 * 

Uncle Percival took them to the station 
and ■ 

But why should I describe a railway 
journey? You know exactly what it is like, 
I will only say that it was very dusty, and so 
sunny that the children wanted the blinds 
down, only a very tailor-made lady with a 
cross little grey dog said u No." And you 
know how black your hands get in the train, 
and how gritty thu cushions are, and how 
your faces get black too, though you are 
quite certain you haven't touched them 
with your hands. The one who got 
the little bit of the engine in its eye was 
Charles that time. But someone always 
gets it T because someone al- 
ways puts its head out of the 
carriage window, no matter 
what the printed notices may 
say. You know all this, What / 

you don't know is what hap- 
pened at the junction where, 

carefully attended by the guard, they changed 
trains. They had to wait for some time 
and when they had looked at the book 
stall — which was small and dull, and 
almost entirely newspapers — they looked at 
the other people who had to ivait too. Most 
of them were of dull appearance; but there 
was one tall gentleman who looked, they 
all agreed, exactly like Mr. Murdstone ir. 
" David Copperfield." 

"And he's got David with him, too," said 
Charlotte. "Look! 1 ' 

The Murdstone gentleman, having bought 


i^rtrt^l ■-- Original from 

by La I 




the Athenaum^ the Spectator^ and a seven- 
penny reprint of the works of Marcus 
Aurelius, had gone to a bench on which 
sa.t a small, sulky-looking boy. He spoke 
to the boy, and the boy answered. And 
the gentleman walked off. 

" He's gone to have a bun all by himself," 
said. Charles. " Selfish pig ! " 

** I say, let's sit down on the bench. You 
sit next him, Charles. Perhaps he'd talk to 
us." This was Caroline's idea. 

They did ; and " he," who was, of course, 
the sulky little boy, did speak to them. But 
not till they'd spoken to him. It was 
Charles who did it. 

" Are you going on in this next train ?" he 
said, " because, if you are, we can get into 
your carriage. We shall be company for you." 
" What's the good ? " said the little boy, 
unexpectedly ; " it'll only make it worse 

"What worse?" 
44 The being alone." 

" Well, anyhow," said Caroline, coming 
round to sit on the other side of him, " you're 
not alone now. What's up? Who is he ? " 

" He's a schoolmaster. I should have 
thought you could have seen that." 

" We thought he was like Mr. Murdstone." 
11 He is," said the strange boy, "exactly." 
"Oh," said Charlotte, joyously, "then 
you've read ' David.' I say ! " 

They were all delighted. There is no bond 
like the bond of having read the same books. 
A tide of friendliness swept over the party, 
and when they found that he had also read 
" Alice in Wonderland," " Wild Animals I 
Have Known," and " Here ward the Wake," 
as well as the stories for children in The 
Strand Magazine, they all felt that they had 
been friends for years. 

" But tell us all about it, quick, before he 
comes back," urged Charles. " Perhaps we 
could help you— bring you jam tarts and 
apples with a rope ladder or something. 
We are yours to the death— you won't forget 
that, will you ? And what's your name ? And 
where do you live ? And where are you 
going ? Tell us all about it, quick ! " he 

Then out it all came. The strange boy's 
name was Rupert Wix, and he was at a school 
— not half bad the school was— and old 
Filon — he was the classical chap — was going 
to take Rupert and two other chaps to Wales 
for the holidays — and now the other chaps 
had got measles, and so had old Filon. And 
old Mug's brother — his name wasn't really 
Mug, of course, but Macpherson, and the 

by K: 



brother was the Rev. William Macpher- 
son — yes, that was him, the Murdstone chap 
— he was going to take Rupert to his beastly 
school in the country. 

"And there won't be any other chaps,' : 
said Rupert, "because, of course, it's vac- 
just old Mug's beastly brother and me, for 
days and weeks and years — until the rest of 
the school comes back. I wish I was dead!" 

" Oh, don't ! " said Caroline ; " how dread- 
ful ! Have some nut-chocolate." A brief 
struggle with her pocket ended in the 
appearance of a packet — rather worn at the 
edges — the parting gift of Aunt Emmeline. 

" Is old Mug's brother as great a pig as he 
looks ? " Charles asked, through Rupert's 
11 Thank yous." 

" Much greater," said Rupert, cordially. 

" Then I know what I'd do," said Charlotte. 
"I'd run away from school, like a hero in a 
book, and have some adventures, and then 
go home to my people." 

" That's just it," said Rupert. " I haven't 
got anywhere to run to. My people are 
abroad. That's why I have to have my hols 
at a beastly school. I'd rather be a dog in 
a kennel — much." 

" Oh, so would I," said Charlotte. " But 
then I'd almost rather be a dog than any- 
thing. They're such dears. I do hope 
there'll be dogs where we're going to." 

"Where's that?" Rupert asked, more out 
of politeness than because he wanted to 

" I'll write it down for you," said Caroline, 
and did, on a page of the new grey leather 
pocket-book Uncle Percival had given her. 
" Here, put it in your pocket, and you write 
and tell us what happens. Perhaps it won't 
be so bad. Here he comes — quick ! " 

She stuffed the paper into Rupert's jacket 
pocket as the tall, Murdstone-like figiye 
advanced towards them. The three children 
left Rupert and walked up the platform. 

" I'm glad we gave him the chock," said 
Charles, and the word was hardly out of his 
mouth before a cold, hard hand touched his 
shoulder (and his cheek as he turned quickly) 
and a cold, hard voice said :— 

" Little boy, I do not allow those under 
my charge to accept sweetmeats from strange 
children, especially dirty ones." 

And with that the Murdstone gentleman 
pushed the chocolate into Charles's hand and 
went back to his prey. 

" Beast ! Brute ! Feast ! " said Charles. 

After this it was mere forlorn-hopishness 
and die-on-the-barricade courage, as Charlotte 
said later, that made the children get into 

Original from 




the same carriage with Rupert and his captor. 
They might as well have saved themselves 
the trouble. The Murdstone gentleman put 
Rupert in a corner and sat in front of him 
with a newspaper very widely opened. And 
at the next 
station he 
changed car- 
riages, taking 
Rupert by 
the hand as 
though he 
had been, as 
Charles put 
it, "any old 
baby girl" 

But as Ru- 
pert went out 
whispered to 
him : — 

11 You get 
some borage 
and eat it," 
and Rupert 
look e d 

" Borage 
gives courage,, 
you know," 
she said, too 
late, for he 
was whisked 
away before 
he could hear 
her, and they 
saw him no 

They talked 
about him, 
though, till 
t \\ e train 

stopped at East Farleigh, which was their 

There was a wagonette to meet them and 
a cart for their luggage, and the coachman 
said he would have known Caroline any- 
where, because she was so like her mother, 
whom he had taken out riding on her pony 
when mother was a little girl, and this made 
everyone feel pleasantly as though they were 
going home. 

It was a jolly drive, across the beautiful 
bridge and up the hill and through the 
village and along a mile or more of road, 
where the green hedges were powdered with 
dust and tufts of hay hung, caught by the 
brambles from the tops of passing wagons. 
These bits of hay made one feel that one 


by \jC 

really was in the country — not just the hare 
field country of the suburb where Aun: 
Emmeline and Uncle Percival lived, where 
one could never get away from the sight of 
red and yellow brick villas. 

And then the boy who 
was driving the cart go: 
down and opened a gaie f 
and they drove through and 
along a woodland mad 
where ferns and blossom- 
ing brambles grew under 
trees very 
green and not 
dusty at aJl. 

From the 
wood they 
came to a 
green, grassy 
park dotted 
with trees, 
and In the 
middle of it, 
standing in a 
half circle of 
chestnuts and 
syca mores, 
was the 

It was a 
white, bow- 
w i n d o w e d 
house, with a 
balcony at 
one end, and 
a porch, with 
white pillars 
and two broad 
steps; and 
the grass grew 
right up to 
the very doorsteps, which is unusual and very 
pretty* There was not a flower to be seen— 
only grass. The wagonette, of course, kept 
to the drive, which ran round to a side door 
— half glass, 

And here Mrs. Wilmington, the house- 
keeper, received them* She was a pale, thin 
person— quite kind, but not at all friendly* 

"I don't believe she has time to think of 
anything but being ladylike," said Charlotte. 
"She ought to wear mittens." 

This was while they were washing their 
hands for tea. 

(L I suppose if you're a housekeeper you 
have to be careful people don't think you're 
a servant," said Caroline* (t What drivel it 
is ! I say, isn't this something like?" 

Original from 




She was looking out of the bow window 
of the big room, spread with a blue rose- 
patterned carpet, at the green glory of the 
park, lying in the sun like another and 
much more beautiful carpet, with a pattern 
of trees on it. 

Then they went down to tea. Such a 
house — full of beautiful things ! But the 
children hadn't time to look at them then, 
and I haven't time to tell you about them 

I will only say that the dining-room was 
perfect in its Turkey carpet and mahogany 
comfort, and that it had red curtains. 

" Will you please pour the tea, Miss 
Caroline?" said Mrs. Wilmington, and went 

" I'm glad we haven't got to have tea with 
her^ anyway," said Charles. 

And then Uncle Charles came in. He 
was not at all what they expected. He could 
not have been what anybody expected. He 
was more shadowy than you would think 
anybody could be. He was more like a 
lightly - printed photograph from an in- 
sufficiently-exposed and imperfectly-developed 
negative than anything else I can think of. 
He was as thin and pale as Mrs. Wilmington, 
but there was nothing hard or bony about 
him. He was soft as a shadow — his voice, 
his hand, his eyes. 

"And what are your names?" he said, 
when he had shaken hands all round. 

Caroline told him, and Charles added : — 

" How funny of you not to know, uncle, 
when we're all named after you ! " 

"Caroline, Charles, Charlotte," he re- 
peated. "Yes, I suppose you are. I like 
my tea very weak, please, with plenty of milk 
and no sugar." 

Caroline nervously clattered among the 
silver and china. She was not used to pour- 
ing out real tea for long-estranged uncles. 

" I hope you will enjoy yourselves here," 
said Uncle Charles, taking his cup; "and 
excuse me if I do not always join you at 
meals. I am engaged on a work — I mean I 
am writing a book," he told them. 

" What fun ! " said everyone but Caroline, 
who had just burnt herself with the urn ; 
and Charles added: — 

"What's it about?" 

"Magic," said the uncle; "or, rather, a 
branch of magic. I thought of calling it 
' A Brief Consideration of the Psychological 
and Physiological Part Played by Suggestion 
in So-called Magic.' " 

" It sounds interesting, at least ; I know 
it would if I knew anything about it," said 

Digitized by GoOgle 

Caroline, trying to be both truthful and 

" It's very long," said Charles. " How 
would you get all that printed on the book's 

" And don't say * so-called,' " said Charlotte. 
" It looks as if you didn't believe in magic." 

" If people thought I believed in magic 
they wouldn't read my books," said Uncle 
Charles. " They'd think I was mad, you 

" But why ? " Charlotte asked. " We aren't 
mad, and we believe in it. Do you know 
any spells, uncle? We want awfully to try 
a spell. It's the dream of our life. It is, 

The ghost of a smile moved the oyster- 
shell-coloured face of Uncle Charles. 

" So you take an interest in magic ? " he 
said. " We shall have at least that in 

" Of course we do. Everyone does, only 
they're afraid to say so. Even servants do. 
They tell fortunes and dreams. Did you 
ever read about the Amulet, or the Phcenix, 
or the Words of Power ? Bread and 
butter, please," said Charles. 

" You have evidently got up the subject," 
said Uncle Charles. " Who told you about 
Words of Power ? " 

" It's in the Amulet," said Charlotte. " I 
say, uncle, do tell us some spells." 

" Ah ! " Uncle Charles sighed. " I am 
afraid the day of spells has gone by— except, 
perhaps, for people of your age. She could 
have told you spells enough— if all the stories 
of her are true." 

He pointed to a picture over the mantel- 
piece, a fair-haired, dark-eyed lady in a ruff. 

" She was an ancestress of ours," he said ; 
" she was wonderfully learned." 

" What became of her ? " Charlotte asked. 

" They burned her for a witch. It is some- 
times a mistake to know too much," said the 

This contrasted agreeably with remem- 
bered remarks of Uncle Percival and Aunt 
Emmeline, such as "Knowledge is power" 
and "There is no darkness but ignorance" 
(which, by the way, never made it easier not 
to be afraid of the dark). 

The children looked at the lady in the 
white ruff and black velvet dress, and they 
liked her face. 

" What a shame ! " they said. 

" Yes," said the uncle. " You see she's 
resting her hand on two books. There's a 
tradition that those books contain her magic 
secret. I used to look for the books when I 





I never found 
found them/' 

was young, 
them — I never 
He sighed again. 

" We'll look, uncle, 
Charlotte, eagerly, u We may 
look, mayn't we? Young heads 
are better than old shoulders, 
aren't they? At least, that 
sounds rude, but you know I 
mean two heads are better than 

yours No, that's not it 

Too many cooks spoil the— 
No, that's not it either, We 
wouldn't spoil anything. Many 
hands make light work. That's 
what I meant" 

"Your meaning was plain 
from the first/' said the uncle. 
"Certainly you may look* But 
you 11 respect the field of your 

"Uncle," said Caroline, from 


behind the silver tea tray, " your house is the 
most lovely, splendid, glorious, we've ever 
seen, and ' 1 

" We wouldn't hurt a hair of its head," said 

Again the uncle smiled. 

"We'll find those books or perish/ 1 said dreamed of when it said luxury- — in books, 
Charlotte, firmly, you know." 

{To be continued.) 

11 WV11 look for them, anyway," said 
Caroline. " Now let's go and pick an ivy 
leaf and put it in a letter for poor dear Aunt 
E mmeline. I'll tell you something," 

t( Well ? " said the others. 

"This is the sort of house I've always 

by Google 

Original from 

Spring Flowers in 



URING the bright days of 

summer it is a very easy 

matter to supply the needs 

of the home with a wealth 

of floral loveliness. But all 

too soon the winter comes 

upon us, and with the 

declining powers of the sun our garden 

borders are quickly destitute of flowers. 

To an extent the clever arts of the 

condition. To bring about the expansion of 
the bud contents, it is only necessary that the 
upward flow of the sap should commence— a 
feature which is the direct response of the 
tree to the call of spring. This sap, as it 
rises from the roots, is not vastly different from 
ordinary water save that it contains a few 
mineral elements, taken from the soil In 
a very large number of instances it is 
possible, even after the removal of the 
modern gardener have surmounted the shoot from the tree, to bring about the 
difficulty of flower production at this dead expansion of the bud contents and fore- 
season, but these methods are scarcely stall the coming of spring. 

within the province 
of ordinary people. 
Quite by chance a curi- 
ously simple means of 
securing flowers and 
fresh spring foliage in 
midwinter has been 
brought to light, and 
this, when generally 
known, can scarcely fail 
to be largely followed. 
Anyone with a garden 
containing flowering trees 
and shrubs, or who can 
secure access to the 
hedgerows of the coun- 
tryside, need never be 
at a loss for blossoms 
during the first months 
of the year. 

In order to follow the 
novel method of flower 
production a small know- 
ledge of the habits of 
our deciduous trees is 
desirable. Contrary to 
the general impression, 
the preparation for the 
spring growth is practi- 
cally complete before the 
fall of the leaf in the 
autumn. Thus, if a bud 
of almost any species 
be dissected in winter, 
the foliage and even the 

These two small sprigs show the difference 

between a shoot well budded with flowers 

and one with leaf buds only. 

The best time to 
gather the branches for 
treatment is from about 
the middle of January 
onwards. Strangely 
enough, better results 
are always obtained il 
the buds have expert 
enced a nip of frost, 
and during a severe 
winter the subsequent 
growth of the shoot is 
much more rapid than 
when the season is mild. 
A very large number of 
subjects may be dealt 
with successfully, and 
there is room for end- 
less experiment. In the 
garden ornamental plum 
and flowering currant 
are good examples with 
which to start, whilst 
from the hedgerows 
blackthorn and wild 
cherry will always give 
satisfaction. Of course, 
nearly all fruit trees are 
useful for growth on 
these lines, but most 
orchard owners will hesi- 
tate to cut away buds 
which later on will 
develop into the juicy 
plum or red - cheeked 

flower buds will be found beneath the apple. All along the best results will be 
protecting sheath, on a very small scale it secured from those plants which produce 
is true, but still in a wonderfully perfect their blossoms early inrtnfi.-sDHpgi Apart 

Vol. xll-15 



from flowers a 
very attractive 
display of fresh 
green foliage 
may b e 
secured from 
early starting 
trees f such as 
sycamore and 

In picking 
the shoots for 
blossoms, it is 
quite neces- 
sary to be able 
to distinguish 
between the 
bud which 
will produce 
flowers and 
those from 
which only 
leaves will expand. A 
few moments in an 
orchard with anyone 
who understands fruit 
culture will soon clear 
up this point As a 
matter of fact, the 
flower buds are almost 
always much stouter 
than the foliage ones, 
and are, moreover, 
produced on a short, 
twiggy growth which 
is very distinct from 
the other part of the 
tree. The difference 
will be seen at a glance 
by a reference to an 
acco m pa n y i n g photo- 
graph, showing two 
small sprigs of black- 
thorn. As far as pos- 
sible one should study 
to secure shapely pieces 
of tree or bush such 
as^will give a well- 
balanced effect when 
placed in a vase. This 
may seem to be a 
small matter, but it is 
one which is really of 
considerable import- 
ance from an artistic 
standpoint. It is well 
to gather the branches 
when they are in a 
dry condition, 

The lower part of the shoot should be carefully trimmed so a* to allow 
the greatest possible absorption of water, 

In the case of brandies of plum the leaves expanc 


a& well as the flowers. 

Having se 

cured a suf- 
ficient supply 
of boughs for 
treat men: 
with a saw or 
a sharp knik 
trim the cut 
end round 
neatly so thai 
there are no 
ragged edge*. 
It is now ne 
cessary to en 
sure that tht 
branch shall 
be able to 
draw up the 
water in which 
it is to be 
placed wiiij 
the greatest 
freedom. Splitting the 
bottom of the twig up- 
wards for a few inches 
is a practice which is 
followed in the case of 
certain plants, but this 
is hardly sufficient in 
the present instance. 
The writer has found 
that the most satisfac- 
tory results are o\> 
tained by cutting off 
strips of the bark some 
few inches in length, 
paring them away 
thinly. This should 
be done in such a 
manner that in going 
round the stem there 
are patches of bark and 
peeled places alter- 
nately. In this way a 
considerable surface is 
exposed from which 
the supply of water 
maybe drawn with the 
greatest freedom. Do 
not expose the raw- 
parts to the air for any 
length of time, but 
plunge them at once - 
into water. By this 
means the natural 
sealing -up process will 
be prevented. 

After preparing the 
boughs in the manner 




indicated, the 
subsequent deve- 
lopment or the 
growth is con- 
siderably hasten- 
ed if the boughs 
are put together 
into jars of water 
and placed in a 
dark cupboard for 
three or four days. 
Dining this time, 
and indeed all 
along, the water 
should be fre- 
quently changed, 
and in order to 
ensure that the 
liquid is quite 
sweet it is not a 
bad plan to place 
a lump of char- 
coal in each 
vessel Almost 
any light position 
will be suitable 
for the next stages 
of treatment. 
Best of all is a 
south window in 
a warmed apartment 
where every available 
ray of sunshine will 
fallupon the sleeping 
buds. In a living- 
room where there is 
a coal fire, dust is an 
enemy, and it is wise 
to sprinkle the bud 
clusters every few 
days with slightly- 
warmed water 
through a fine rose. 
After an interval it 
will be noticed that 
the bud scales will 
have perceptibly 
loosened, showing 
that the leaves inside 
have started to ex- 
pand. Day by day the 
buds will grow larger 
until the green tips of 
the flower cases peep 
through the brown 
covering. During 
these early stages of 
growth many people 
will possibly like to 

A well- budded branch of sloe. 

keep the branches 
in some unused 
although it should 
be remembered 
that steady 
warmth is essen- 
tial if the buds 
are to expand. A 
regularly - heated 
greenhouse is an 
ideal place in 
which to put the 
shoots, and on 
account of its 
freedom from 
dust will be even 
better than a 
room. On the 
other hand, there 
can be no deny- 
ing that there is a 
real pleasure in 
watching the 
gradual opening 
of the buds and 
the progress 
which the whole 
shoot makes each 
day. In this way 
one gets a wonderful 
insight into the mys- 
tery of response of 
the plant to the call 
of the spring. When 
in their full beauty 
the sprays of white 
(lowers, such as 
would be produced 
from blackthorn or 
cherry, form a very 
decorative feature, 
and the blossoms 
produced in this way 
will last for a very 
lengthy period. In 
the case of branches 
which are grown 
solely for foliage, the 
development of leaf 
will not be quite so 
perfect as is seen in 
the case of bloom* 
Still, the pale green 
of the leafage cannot 
fail to supply a wel- 
come touch of bright- 
ness during the dull 

Cheny-Mossom out in full bloom in midwmiu:/, days of Winter, 



Puzzles ana Solutions. By Henry E. Dudeney. 


T T ERE is a rather attractive little puzzle. Put 
X~l five cards on the table, as shown in the illus- 
tration, and then place on the central card, C, ten 
counters, numbered 1 to 10, in numerical order, 
I being at the top and 10 at the bottom, You are 
required to remove the complete pile of counters to 
another oard, by moving one counter at a time from 

card to card, and never placing any counter on one 
bearing a smaller number than itself. After a little 
practice you may soon succeed in doing this. If so, 
the question arises quite naturally : Have you done it 
in the quickest way ? I will say at once that the 
fewest moves possible are thirty -one* If you discover 
the way of transferring the ten counters in thirty one 
moves , then try to find out in how few moves twenty 
counters may be similarly transferred. The investi- 
gation soon becomes quite fascinating* 


A OKNTLEMAN wished to plant twenty-one trees in 
his park so that they should form twelve straight 
rows with five trees in every row. Could you have 
supplied hitn with a pretty symmetrical arrangement 
that would satisfy these conditions ? These tree- 
planting puzzles have always been a matter of great 
perplexity. They are real 4i puzzles" in the truest 
sense of the word, because nobody has yet succeeded 
in finding a direct and certain way of solving them. 
They demand the exercise of sagacity, ingenuity, and 
patience, and perhaps what we call ''luck' 1 is also 
sometimes of service. It is therefore possible that 

by Google 

thirteen or more such rows may be formed with the 
twenty -one trees. I do not believe it probable, but 
nobody can at present give a proof that it cannot be 
done, I know that twelve rows may be formed, in 
more than one way, because I have produced them, 
but more than that it is impossible to say. Perhaps 
some day a genius will discover the key to the whole 
mystery, Remember that the trees must be regarded 
as mere points, for if we were allowed to make our 
trees big enough we might easily " fudge " our 
diagrams and get in a few extra straight rows that 
were more apparent than real. 


A lady had a square piece of bunting with two 
lions on it, of which the illustration is an exactly 
reproduced reduction. She wished to cut the stuff 
into pieces that would fit together and form two 
square banners with a lion on each banner* She 
discovered that this could be done m as few as four 
pieces. How did she manage it ? Of course, to 

cut the British Lion would be an unpardonable 
offence, so you must he careful that no cut passes 
through any portion of either of them. Ladies are 
informed that no allowance whatever has to he made 
for " turnings/' and no part of the material may be 
wasted. It is quite a simple little dissection puzde if 
rightly attacked. Remember that the banners have 
to be perfect squares, though they need not be both 
of the same size, 

Original from 



This curious little chess puzzle 
in ay be conveniently attempted by 
u> * ri S l he nine squares at the 
bottom right - hand corner of a 
chess- boartL The puzzle is to move 
the king to the vacant square in 
the diagram, Of course, the pieces 
move exactly as they do in the game 
of chess, though the pawns are 
clearly incapable of any movement 
at a]]. The only special condition 
is the very simple one that the king 

is never allowed to move to the 
central square. That is what gives 
all the trouble. His Majesty has 
to work round by the side . of the 
ln>ardj and he forces the other 
men to a considerable amount or 
activity in order that he may be so 
accommodated. It is a quaint 
little puzzle, and I am confident 
that when once you attempt it 
you will not leave off until you 
have got to the bottom of the 

Solutions to Last Month 9 Puzzles. 


If there are two men* each of whom marries the 
mother of the other, and there is a son of each 
marriage, then each of such sons will l>e at the same 
lime uncle and nephew of the other. There are 
uther ways in which the relationship may be brought 
at-HrtLt, but this is the simplest. 


The number of different ways in which the eight 
diners may all take hats that do not belong to them 
is 14,833, The number of ways in the respective 
eases of l, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and S hats is as follows : o, 
t , 2, % 44, 265, 1,854, 14,833. To get these numbers 
I multiply successively by 2, 3, 4, 5, etc. When the 
multiplier is even I add [, and when it is odd I 
deduct I. Thus, the chances are i4t#33 m 4°>3 2 °i 
or 2, 1 19 in 5,760. 


Play the cards as follows t — 

S 3 on D 4 («) 
D 5 on S 6 
S Q on H K 

D 1 out 
S I out 
H to on S J 
S 9 on H 10 
H 8 on S 9 
S 7 cin U 8 
D 6 on S 7 
C6«m H 7 
H 5 on C 6 
S j on H 5 
I> 7 on C 8 
C 10 on I) J 
I) to on C J 
C 9 on D io 
S 6 on D 7 


J D Q on space 
J S 5 on D 6 
■ H 9 on space 

D J, etc, onSQW H 3 on S4 

D 9 on C 10 

C 7 on space 

C 4 on D 5 

C I out 

S 8 on D 9 

D 8 on C 9 

C 7 on D S (0 

H 7, etc, onSS(rf) 

! S loun H J 
H 9 on S io 

1 S 2 on H 3 
I II 1 on S 3 (01 
j D4,etc. onSstrt 

C8 t ctc. on 119(A) 
, CJ.cic.onDQIf) 

II Kj etc. on 

spec (/) 
D % on space 
D K on space 
S K on space (k) 

H 2 on S 3 
D 3 011 C 4 
C 2 out 
C 3 out {?) 
H J on space 

[a) We now have a vacant space, {#) By first play- 
ing the C 10 Io the vacant space — the "etc." means 
lhai we transfer the card together with all the cards 
alxivc it, (*■) We now have two spaces, (tl\ The 
reader will find how the four cards are transferred by 
using the two spaces. (t) We have now three 

spaces, (/) Recovering two spaces, ff) Leaving 
three spaces, (h) Leaving four spaces* (t) Leaving 
five spaces. (/") Readers should work this out for 
themselves. Tile first four cards on one space ; then 
the next four on another space \ then transfer the first 
four on to the second four ; then remove the next four 
(with S Q at bottom) to another space and place the 
II K on one of the remaining sj>aces. Now, by 
reversing the process, return all the cards on the H K. 
[k) All piles are now in proper sequence and may be 
played off automatically. We have thus made this 
deal come out with as few as five cards in the suit 
heaps. I have recently made a deal of this patience 
come out f all piles in sequence, with no card ever put 
up for suit heap. 



1 Q— KB 8 (ch) 

2 Q— KB 7 (ch) 

3 Q— K 8 (ch) 

4 Q x B 

5 K x R 

6 K— B 2 

7 P-B 6 

and W T hite must win. 

1 K moves 
K-R aq 
K— R 2 {a) 
P x Q 
P~K 6 
K-R 3 

[a) If Black play 3 K-Kl 2, 

White mates in three moves. 


OR File . , 1 Q— Qa (ch), etc. 

<,)Kt „ .„ 1 Q— K5 (ch), etc 

QB , f ,.. 1 B— Kt 5, etc, 

Q „ ... ] Either Kt— QB6 or K6;orKt(Q4)- 

QB 2, QKt 3, K 2, ut KB 3; or 

Q— R s {ch), etc. 
K „ ♦,. t iJ-KR 2 (ch), etc. 
KB ,, ... f K x Kt, etc. 
KKt „ , + . I B— KR sq, or Q 5, QB 6, QKt 7, 

orQRS; or Kt— R 3 (ch), etc. 
KK ,, ... 1 Q— Raq (ch), etc. 
At the period when this j^roup of problems was 
composed they had no great objection to plurality 
of solutions, or to giving check or capturing on I he 
first move. But we have changed all that. 

by Google 

Original from 


[ Wt shall he glad to rtteive Contributions to this sec lion , and to pay for suth ai are acceded. ) 


L * 


1 ' 

$&* "*i 


THE apparently weird-looking animal shown in 
the photograph really belongs to the vegetable 
world. Technically speaking, it is what the botanist 
would term a seed- Popularly considered, it would 
be better known as a cocoa- nuL By means of a 
brush and some black, white, and red water- col ours, 
a cocoa- nut may easily be converted into one of ihL-se 
vegetable "animals.'* If it is then placed half- 
hidden amongst the plants in the garden for the 
children to discover, it will cause much excitement 
amongst them. — Mr, John J + Ward, KEhS,, 
Rusinurbe House, Somerset Road, Coventry. 


^UR village handy man has invented the instrn 
ment depicted in the accom- 
panying photograph, and it is decidedly 
amusing and unique. When the machine 
is working he stands behind il, and hy 
means of strings ami wires makes the 
figures work. They move their mouths 
as if talking or singing, turn their heads, 
and move their arms, just as do the dolls 
worked by ventriloquists, — Mr* Wilfred 
1- Wynne, Schoolhouso, S wanton Morley, 
^'ast Dereham. 


BEING a patient in an infirmary, and consequently 
having plenty of spare time in my convaJescerj'. 
st site, I have been devoting some of it to wucj<1 
whittling, being induced lo do so by an article in a 
back number of The Strand, describing the work 
of an American whiulcr. Finding I could do the 
work lie had done, I conceived an idea of my own. 

and have succeeded in making, out of a small piece of 
wood about three inches long and one-fifth of an inch 
in thickness, a model cricket hat, which, when opened 
out, produces seven pairs of pliers, the wood still 
Ijieing all in one piece, When the hat is closetl up 
the joims and divisions are hardly perceptible. Thus 
out of this one small piece of wood eight complete 
a nicks have been made + — Mr- Samuel Wright, U4 
Ward, Mill Road Infirmary* Everton, Liverpool* 


RECENTLY I came across a letter sent to me 
some years ago by a cousin, and addressed in 
the curious manner here shown. The tune is taken 
from part of an old round called (t Big Hem" In 
spite of the quaint addreaa the letter was promptly 
del i ve red . — M rs. * A nd re w W'at t , Edinburgh. 

j jiff n>j IT 1 1 mm 

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Original from 

^ 7m. 



anchor — symbolical of ihe navy — 
there, with flags on short slicks. This 
was duly done, and afterwards the* 
whole of the "anchor" was planted 
with young pine trees- Now the 
trees measure more than six feet high. 
—Mr* W. 1, Toms, i6a, Shimoya- 
niate-duri Nicliome, Kobe, Japan. 


I AM sending you a photograph 
ufwhat I think must \k a unique 
piece of work. It is an imiution 
of a hound volume of The Strand 
Magazine, and consists uf a piece 
of yellow snap embellished with 
pieces of paper picked up from the 
ground* It is the work of a convict, 
and was left in his cell, from which 


THOUGH the wearers of these elaborate fancy 
dresses must have been far from comfortable, 
the fact thai each obtained a "First Pme" was 
probably more than sufficient compensation* The dress 
representing ** A Musical NT an " was made chiefly 
of cardboard fixed to a wooden frame, while to one 
of the candles was attached an electric light, which 
showed up brilliantly, The other costume was a 
very effective model of a pump, for which the wearers 
arm served as a handle. — Mr. K, V. Eloliiss, Dolphin 
Hotel, Littlehampton. 


ENTIRELY 5 composed of young pine trees, this 
41 living anchor'^ is planted on a hill in 
Kobe, which is now called "Anchor Hill." Its 
size may be gathered from the fact that the distance 
from the eslieme end of the part forming the 
stock to the shank measures eleven yards. This 
" anchor *' has an historical interest. In April, 1903, 
a grand naval review was held in Kolie Harbour,, 
when His Japanese Majesty the Emperor reviewed 
hh navy. This occurred a little previous to the 
outbreak of the Ku&so- Japanese War, and, as the 
14 Anchor Hill " {then not so named] direct])" faces the 
harbour, school Ijovs were detailed to mark out a huge 

I obtained it. The 
effect of leaves is 
obtained by the use 
of threads pulled 
from the man's 
coat, and. of 
course, the whole 
thing was done by 
the finger - nails 
alone t as no tools 
are allowed, — Mr. 
D. M. Macdonaki, M.D., Lajrmhor, Dunkeld, N.B. 


PERHAPS none of your readers have ever had the 
opportunity of witnessing such a curious sight 
as is shown in the following photograph. 1 had 
to cross the mighty Indus in the northern parts ^1 
Kashmir, where no boat was available. The neigh- 
bouring villagers, however, made a curious and risky 
arrangement forme by inflating leather hags with their 
mouths, and tying them together to make a raft. 
— Mr* li> I>* Churra, Manager, The Kashmir and 
Tihet Trading Company, Srinagar, Kashmir State. 



1 20 



THE handsome pew of carved black oak 
seen in the photograph has a remarkable 
history. It stands prominently in the ancient 
church of Whalley, close to W bailey Abbey, 
in Lancashire, and is the cynosure of all the 
eyes of the congregation. It was bulk con- 
siderably over lwo hundred years ago by one 
Roger No well, the local squire, who intended 
it for Lhe family pew, but the authorities of 
the Abbey who then had charge of the church 
refused to allow it to take up Lhe position the 
squire wished for it, and in high dudgeon he 
left it in the churchyard. Some men stowed 
it away in a barn, where it actually remained 
for over seventy years. Then, the estate being 
divided, the respective owners began discuss- 
ing the question of the pew\ The disagree- 
ment grew into a quarrel, the quarrel into a 
lawsuit, and many hu rid reds of pounds were 
spent in litigation. Then it was suggested, 
after several years of altercation, to divide it into 
two parts by a partition, so that each of the con- 
testants could have half. This was done, hut then 
the parties could not agree as to which should 
use the front half* In disgust, onti of the parties 
threw up the sponge and built a gallery to overlook 
the pew. The other, not to be outdone, also erected 
a gallery with a separate staircase. These are still to 
be seen, and, in addition to the other galleries and 
staircases, give the church a very curious appearance. 
And what became of the pew ? It stands as seen in 
the photograph* and makes a very comfortable seat 
for the wardens. — Mr, W, H. Knowles, Caldervale, 
Great liar wood, Blackburn. 


THE following is a photograph of a small villa 
entirely designed and built by one man — Mr, 
F. Fish burn, of Hurley - in - Wharfedale, York shire. 
This house has Wen built by Mr, Fish burn in the past 

two years during his spare time, and the only assist- 
ance he had has been from a plumber, who has Kited up 
the gas and water arrangements. Thi>, feat is all the 
more remarkable on account of Mr, Fisbbum being 
a tailor by trade, and therefore having previously had 
no experience of building, Photograph by Mr. J. 
Breare, — Mr. Clifford Greaves, Hurley* in- Whar fed ale. 


IN an article by Mr. Harry Furniss under the 
above title in our November numlwr a joke was 
related at the expense of Mr. K, C. Lehmann which 
be thinks some readers might possibly have taken 

Seriously . We wish to state, therefore, on behalf of 
ourselves and Mr. Furniss, that nothing was further 
from our thoughts than to publish anything which 
was open, as this passage was, to possible misci in- 
struct ion, and that the whole thing was entirely 
written in jest. 


SUPPOSE you held Z's cards in the following 
"No trump" position, and you only wanted 
two of these eight tricks. One trick— the king of 
hearts — is sure, but how are you to get the other? 
There arc no trumps, and Z is in the lead. 

Y Z are to get two of these eight tricks, no matter 
what A B do to prevent it — Mr, Frank Roy, Water- 
vllet, New York. 

THE arljpCjflwI^aAf flgij^ Expression " announced 

Canada's Welcome to Women Workers. 


(British Women's Emigration Association). 

ria El 

OMES are what Rhodesia 
wants," said that great 
Empire - builder, Cecil 
Rhodes; and, if Rhodesia 
wants homes, Canada, the 
most progressive of the 
Overseas Dominions, wants 
them too, and offers a very warm welcome to 
the strong, capable woman of brave heart 
and cheerful spirit. There are thousands, 
among the million of Britain's surplus women, 
who, feeling sadly the humiliating fact that 
they are not wanted here, long for the oppor- 
tunities that the less restricted and fuller life 
of Canada affords. 

Here, in these days, when so much is 
heard of "women's rights," is one way they 
can claim their rights as Empire- builders in 
the home, for it has been very truly remarked, 
11 A hundred men can make an encampment, 
but it takes a woman to make the home." 
Lord Curzon said that women do not look 
enough for new openings in the professional 
and business life of the country, and sug- 
gested that they "might take up more largely 
than they do the professions of journalism, 
librarians, or organists," He went on to say 
"there were openings for women to decorate 
or design houses, and to lay out and plan 
gardens," Here, again, the unpleasant fact 
of the "dismal million " forces the conviction 

VoL xlL-16. 

by Google 

that the market here is already overstocked. 
Here, thousands of women are working hard 
for a bare existence, the monotony and barren 
pay of which are crushing out the sweetness 
and brightness of what should have been 
happy and useful lives. 

Emigration offers the most practical solution 
to the problem of " What to do with our 
daughters," Canada says : "You have sent 
me your sons, whose lives will not be complete 
till you have sent me your daughters, I offer 
them a warm welcome, and will help them to 
find their niche in the world's economy, that 
they have sought in vain in the homeland." 
The women coming out must be 7Vorkers t 
What kind? Domestic servants (or " home 
helps," as they are sometimes called in 
Canada), for which the demand is inex- 
haustible, and is the first asset in bringing 
about the development of the country* As 
the farm hand becomes the farmer of the 
West, so the help becomes the wife and 
mother, and often launches out into the 
various branches of women's work opening 
on every hand. 

But if Canada offers a welcome to domestic 
servants, she is even more ready to offer a 
still heartier welcome to educated women 
irr her homes, her towns, and her schools. 
From Ontario to the Pacific coasts comes the 
same tale— that the numbers going out are 
Original from 



only a "drop in the bucket'" in comparison 
to the demand, 

In Vancouver alone last year 2,983 appli- 
cations from employers for domestic help 
were received, hut only 764 of these were 
furnished with permanent or temporary help. 
Many who go to their first situation are 
refined and educated women — some the 
daughters of clergymen, others the children 
of officers in the British Army and Navy. 
Taking with them the truest refinement and 
culture, they are one of the greatest civilizing 
powers of to-day. The country villages and 

have the shelter of the quiet country home. 
These are the girls that Canada welcomes. 
The only requisites are willingness to learn, 
strength and endurance to do unpleasant as 
well as the pleasant work, to look on the bright 
side of things, and last, but not least, not 
to put on what the Canadians call "frills' 1 
and English people "side," The following 
is a fair description of the life of a u home 
help" as the writer has seen it in Canada. 
She rises at 6.30, and prepares breakfast. 
Monday may be washing day ; Tuesday, 
ironing and starching; Wednesday, baking; 

towns of Great Britain and Ireland contain 
numbers of the daughters of the middle 
class who have had a good education but 
have not felt attracted to an educational, 
artistic, or musical career. They have been 
accustomed to doing their share of house- 
hold work, have looked after their younger 
brothers and sisters, made most of their 
own clothes, and have done a good deal 
of amateur gardening and poultry-keeping. 
Their physical culture at the high schools 
has been kept up, and the world can show 
nothing better than these il daughters of the 
gods, divinely tall and most divinely fair/' 
whose outward appearance is only an index 
of the true, brave heart and mind within. 
What does England offer these girls? They 
cannot all marry, and they will not always 

by Google 

Thursday and Friday, general turning out 
of rooms ; Saturday, cleaning kitchen and 
pantry. She and her employer will gene- 
rally divide the work and cooking between 
them. A great deal could be written about 
the parties, picnics, and outdoor life during 
the summer, and the skating, dancing, and 
entertainments of the winter. Where every- 
one works the help will have no self con- 
sciousness as to the varied character of the 

I remember being at an "at home" on 
the prairie, when an English officer present, 
remarking on the elegance of the dresses worn 
and the manner in which everything was 
carried out, could hardly be made to believe 
that no one present had a " help " of any kind. 
I told him that my hostess and I had finished 

Original from 




the week's washing before we arrived, and a 
lady near told him she had scrubbed her 
Boors that morning ; but the climax came 
when a certain Church dignitary of very 
courtly manners told him that he too, being 
a bachelor, had scrubbed his kitchen and 
put a batch of bread to rise before he 
came out. 

Many men who are " baching " it alone on 
the prairie, who are feeling their feet and able 
to add sufficient comforts to their shucks to 
justify them in sending for a fiancet or a 
sister to join them, also would benefit in 
every way by a 
woman's com- 
panionship and in- 

One "help'' 
writes : " I stayed 
almost three weeks 
with my brother 
and sister in Sas- 
katchewan, It has 
made all the differ- 
ence in the world 
to my brother, hav- 
ing my sister with 
him. The shack 
looked very com* 
fortablyand artistic- 
ally arranged — in 
fact, it has been 
changed from a 
shelter into a com- 
fortable home." 

If the "help" in 
a Canadian home 
is welcomed, the 
"school marm" 
coming to a country 
school has even a 
wanner reception. 

Though she, too, will find the conditions of 
life different, her position is far more assured* 
She is often the only unmarried woman in 
the settlement, and correspondingly sought 
after, while her influence among scholars and 
settlers is not bound by the four walls of her 

The Canadian educational authorities are 
prepared to grant an interim certificate to 
qualified teachers, who are in great demand 
^ the Dominion. The salary starts at about 
^135 a year, and board and lodging in the 
country districts cost very little. All must 
take six months' training at a normal school 
tn order to obtain the Government certificate 
as a Canadian certificated school teacher. I 
have known cases where the teacher, if 



musical, has earned enough, by acting as 
organist or giving lessons, to pay for her 
training course. Whatever work the teacher 
does to pay for her course will be in no 
wise against her socially ; in fact, people 
will admire her more for her courage and 

Here* then, is some solution of how to 
help the 4,000 unemployed teachers of 
England to obtain the positions they are 
qualified for, and at the same time to take 
their part in educating young Canada in the 
ideals that have made the British Empire 

what it is. The 
schoolmistress in 
Canada is a force 
to be reckoned with 
in the development 
of the national life 
and in bringing 
about the unifica- 
tion of the Empire. 
An illustration of 
what a teacher's 
influence can do 
occurred about two 
years ago in a very 
remote country dis- 
trict in Saskatche- 
wan, where a young 
teacher was ap- 
pointed to a new 
school on the 
prairie at some dis- 
tance from a town* 
She boarded with a 
farmer's family, and 
drove with his chil- 
dren to the little 
sch ool h ou se where 
the other children 
were assembled. 
They were bright, w r arm hearted boys and 
girls, and soon became as fond of their 
young teacher as she was of them* When 
Sunday came round, she found the nearest 
church was some fifty miles away, and the 
children practically ran wild. She felt she 
must do something to remedy this, and 
asked the children, during the week, if they 
would come and learn to sing hymns on the 
Sunday afternoons. She hardly expected more 
than her host's family, but, on reaching the 
school on the following Sunday afternoon* 
she found nearly all the children there- 
Time went on, and she sent to Ontario for a 
small organ to lead her choir, as, gradually, 
the parents and elder brothers of her pupils 
had dropped in to see " what the school 
Original from 


[2 4 


marm was like who could make the children 
so anxious to come to school on Sunday." 
A regular service was started, helped by 
some of the farmers, who had recollections 
of the village churches of the Old 
Country, A ratechist arrived to open up 
services thirty miles from the school, who 
found the schoolhouse crowded out, and after 
service a church council was held, and one 
and all promised help. Six months after 
there was consecrated a beautiful little church, 
entirely built and paid for by the settlers. 
This is one instance, out of many, showing 

woman, the grumbler, and the martyr. An 
instance occurs to me of a "very superior* 
help arriving at a well-to-do Canadian 
household, where her inadaptability to her 
surroundings and her incompetence very 
nearly drove the mistress of the house to 
desperation ; yet I have no doubt, on return- 
ing to England, the help declared that 
Canada was no place for a " lady " ! 

Emigrants cannot do better than join one 
of the protected parties going out under 
experienced matrons to recognized hostels in 
various parts of Canada under the auspices 


what one girl can do, if in earnest. Lastly, 
there are fresh openings every year for nurses, 
laundresses, and needlewomen, and an in- 
creasing market for women gardeners, fruit, 
poultry, and dairy farmers. The Macdonald 
College, on Montreal Island, has accommo- 
dation, at very moderate charges, for 225 
women! who are trained in either teaching, 
household science, or agricultural work, and 
country life in general 

There are some women Canada has no use 
for, among them being the useless gentle- 

of the societies who have carefully enabled 
10,000 women to emigrate- 
To return to Cecil Rhodes's saying again, 
11 Homes, more homes " are the crying needs 
of all the great Overseas States. Let us help 
to build them- Every woman who leaves 
these shores for Canada is not only ** working 
out her own salvation," and filling her niche 
there, but is lightening the overburdened ship 
of State at home, and doing her part in 
d rii wing the whole Empire together in cords 
of love which will not easily be broken, 

by Google 

Original from 

January, 1911* 




By "EvE." 

ROCKS of the simple Empire 
style, straightly cut and high- 
waited, are quite the most 
becoming of the present 
modes for those of slim 
figure where evening toilettes 
are concerned, and satin is 
the material for their fabrication. The fairly 
short skirt, too, gives opportunity for the 

Fijj* j. -Morning wrap of pate coral-pink or 
del -blue cachemfre. trimmed with hiinds of 
soft aatin the same shade, which also covers 
the large wood en button moulds. Any reader 
can easily copy it from the pattern which wo 
are able to supply for is* o(d. post free, In 
»mal], medium, or large size. 

F*g, a. Little 
boy's Russian 
tunic Of soft 
ribbed serge. 
the trimming 
bands being of 
suede h though 
velvet and 
military bra Id 
could also be 
smartly em~ 
ployed ; or. iuf 
washing pur- 

Eoses, linen or 
olland com- 
bined with 
bands of the 
same material 
In a contraM- 
ing shail i . 

by Google 


Original from 





FlfT- j. -The original of this 
evening cant wn of shell T pink 
cloth, with a Ureek pattern out- 
lined in silvered glass bends, 
but a mora practical expression 
would be black satin, with gold 
decorations* or, for a Monde, 
emerald -green with a Jet trim- 
ming* So highly desirable was 
the cut of this coat that J 
promptly secured the pattern, 
which can therefore he supplied 
from this office, in small, 
medium, or large size a, for i/oj 
post free* 




Fig. 4. — Nothing could possibly be more 
becoming to a splendidly- built figure than 
this original mode for evening wear. It is 
composed of soft mauve satin with a bust 
and hip curaelet of fine white lace sewn with 
crystal beads* The drapery of shot mauve 
and pale blue ninon Is caught at the left side 
of waist and skirt by prim Little bows of 
ermine. The tace scarf matched the corselet 
In design. 

Original from 



display of pretty ankles and dainty footwear 
Next to white, the very palest of shell-pink 
is the favourite shade for evening wear, 
and veiled in dewdrop or spangled net it 

Fifr- 5*— A walking? suit of coarse - ribbed 
Strey .serge, with the lashlonable sailor-shape 
collar of 'black velvet outlined with a narrow 
fold of white satin, which also shows in the 
re vers beneath. The same material trims 
and weights the foot part of the skirt very 

Fig, 6,— An elegant indoor jown, of slightly 
Empire cut. to make which cnlffon velvet or 
wool -back satin is very gracefully employed. 
The skirt trimming of dull gold embroidered 
lace merely simulates an overskirt* The 
chemisette La of soft ivory -tinted lace mounted 
on LliiHtm, 

by Google 

suits the brunette charmingly. The blonde 
should, however, prefer del-blue or the 
palest eau de Nil. The loveliest garnitures 
of crystal beads, bugles, and spangles glisten 
Original from 



Ftff. ft- — A cioih costume, never e la 
cut, Cfin yet Iwfc wonderfully dre**T, mm 
ihi* sketch £ho*-5. Ihc addition of the 
thick embroidered late and soft silk 
ribbon threaded through tne tab* 
afPnrding- ii decided Contract to the -*ame 
model which was also shown in fine navy 
serge, with the tab A simply outlined in 
fine Turkey red silk soutache. The idea, 
being so practical and unique, merited 
the obtaining of a pattern, which emu 
now be had, for small and medium figures 
only, from this office for 1/04 post free. 

ric. 7, 

F'jf* 7- — Pan or mlrolr velvet Is a great 
favour He In the millinery world at the moment. 
and when employed to cover art Espalra shape 
In the manner shown in our sketch is decidedly 
chic. The model was banded by wide dull 
gold embroidery, and a vivid pink suede rose 
surmounted by a smoke- grey ostrich feather 
tip was placed exactly in the centre front. 

and glint charmingly around the decolletage 
and sleeves of these models, and the same 
garniture is repeated on the hair in all 
manner of fancy fillets, also in roses of silver 
and gold gauze. 

On outdoor costumes the sailor collar is 
extremely modish, in black moire, satin, or 
velvet, according to the material it trims* 

Velvet i* srili extremely popular, but the 
Parisian couiunert is now giving it preference 
for indoor wear. 

Our French cousins always hit the mark 
with something elegantly simple, and the 
one-piece Russian mode has now spread 10 
die dressing-gown. 

1 am decidedly struck by the new Russian 
overall or indoor tunic for little boys — it is 
so eminently serviceable, smart, and simple. 
It is being mostly exploited in sage green, 
with brown suede trimming straps la red 
with green. This mode] was so delightful 
that I immediately secured a pattern, which 
is suitable for a boy of 4 or 6 years, and 
which we can therefore now supply from this 
office for is, ojsd* post free. 

by Google 

Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




by Google 

Original from 



Vol, xli. 

FEURUARV, 1911. 

No. 242. 

G r lgsby- Ant lque s 


Illustrated oy Dudley Hardy , R.L 

GOOD half of life is a closed 
book to a man while he re- 
mains a bachelor. Some, in- 
deed, say the best half. But 
that must depend on each 
man's own experience. 

Josiah Grigs by began 
married life by occupying a twelve-roomed 
house in Cove tori on- Sea* After thirty years 
of matrimony he was living in a garret. 
Married life for him had been eventful. 

It must not be supposed, however, that he 
had "come down in the world." It is the 
commonest thing, of course, for a man to 
make that downward progress after accepting 
matrimony ; and by nothing else is it so 
often marked as by the shrinking of his 
house- rent, till finally it becomes room -rent. 
But Grigsby's garret in which he celebrated 
his sixtieth birthday, and several birthday* 
afterwards, was beneath the roof of the very 
house to which thirty years before he had 
taken his bride, He had been pushed 
upwards to the room beneath the roof by 
the expansion of his business. In Coveton 
on-Sea it was common knowledge that he 
was well-to-do, 

V*|. *ti,-17, 

Grigsby had, indeed, ceased to pay rent 
for his house. He had l>ecotne his own 
landlord. Nevertheless, after thirty years he 
was living in a garret, cooking for himself, 
doing for himself, living for himself and by 
himself. Why ? Simply because his married 
life had been a succession of failures. 
Tragedies would, perhaps, be the better word. 

In Coveton-on-Sea, with its rocky coast, 
men know what a wreck means. The stormy 
happenings of Grigsby 5 life had been like 
angry giant waves which had taken his 
happiness, played with it, and then dashed it 
to pieces, leaving a wreck. And no man had 
dreamed of the joy of a home more than 
Josiah Grigsby. lie was that sort of man, 
be it remembered —tkafs&rt&fman. Home, 
wife, and children had once been his gods. 
Ordinary commonplace happiness was all he 
wanted. He never had any desire to u go 
deep into life/* 

Let us look back for a moment to a 
May morning in 1875 when he stood in the 
garden in front of that house of his with his 
young wife. 

u You see/' he is saying, in his impulsive, 
talkative @fljQirf^l"fr%ni was impulsive and 


*3 2 


talkative in those days, Si when I get on a 
bit I'll build a shop over this bit of garden, 
snd well have the whole of the house for 
our home" 

It was like that with him. The shop was the 
dream of the 
future only be- 
cause it would 
make secure 
the home be 
hind it. 

"Yes, Josh," 
said the girl, 
with fervour. 
embraced him 
there and 
then, but for 
the windows 
of High Street 
and an errand- 
boy passing by. 

There they 
are as they 
started ! He, 
of middle 
height, neither 
good - looking 
nor bad- look- 
ing, but with a 
keen, intelli- 
gent face, a 
looking man, 
but, as we shall 
see, no fool ; 
a young furni- 
ture dealer in 
a country 
town, which, 
as he put it 
himself, was 
"bound to 
come oil" It 
has come on. 
It was Cove- 
ton then. It 
is Co ve^on- on- 
Sea now. And 
Grigs by h;is 
prospered with 
the town, 
Te nkn t in 
1875, in 1908 
he had been 
his own land- 
lord for several 
years. And the 
few - dovs - old 






bride? Look at her well, for she is respon 
sible for much. 

A tall and well-proportioned girl, her 

luxuriant hair bunched irt superb negligence 

on her shapely head, her whole being is alive 

with the novelty of her new dignity 

of "wife." Passionate and loving, 

you sum her up. Yes; passionate 

and loving to a fault. She loved 

Grigsby, but she went far towards 

ruining him. 

"It's foolish 
to talk like this 
now," you may 
say, ** when she 
is dead and 
the business is 
a small gold 
in i n e, a n cl 
Grigsby lives 
happy and 
comfortable in 
his old age." 

No. Lucy 
Grigsby was at 
the root of all 
and must be 

You can see 
Josiah Grigs- 
by's house 
to-day if you 
go to Coveton. 
It stands in 
High Street, 
well back from 
the pavement, 
thesmall grass- 
plot before, 
over which he 
had once 
dreamed of 
some day 
building a 
shop, You can 
stand on the pave- 
ment, lean over 
the rails, and gaze 
up at the house. 
You can lead the 
two words newly 
painted in large 
black Old English 
letters on the dingy 
j el low wall at the 
level of 1 he first 
floor, " Grigsby, 


on iikr s|fAI>J, -QTrjWj:ft%rfroSP 11 can soe ut 



every window old blue plates, brass candle- 
sticks, pieces of pewter or Sheffield plate, an 
antique card -table or a Toby jug, an old 
sword or a tempting piece of old glass. 

If you are a lover of old things which are 
beautiful, not only because they are sound 
and good, but also because they are relics of 
a vanished life— if, in short, you collect such 
antiques as your purse will allow you to 
collect, you will open the gate, go up to the 
house, and enter. Even if you do not, if you 
have any imagination at all, and have pre- 
viously read Grigsby's history, you will look 
up at those windows and see ghosts. 

For that house is instinct with the history 
of the life of Josiah Grigsby, dating from 
his marriage. 

The marriage was unhappy. That you 
know, and anybody in Coveton will tell it 
you. Some will also tell you how Lucy 
Grigsby was of strong, florid beauty, tall and 
of good carriage, but self-willed and passionate. 
She loved Josiah tempestuously, and, in times 
.of reaction, let him feel the brunt of an 
unbridled temper. In the end she took 
to drinking, and, while her two children, a 
boy and a girl, were quite young, died prema- 
turely. That was the first tragedy. So that 
Josiah Grigsby's dream of a home, with a 
shop covering the front garden, ended on 
that day when he followed his wife's body to 
Coveton Churchyard. He came back and 
set to work, living for his children. 

But you may like to see the rooms in 
which it all happened. 

That front upstairs room was their bed- 
room, given up to the business after Lucy 
Grigsby died ; that back room was Tom's — 
till one day in a fit of his mother's temper he 
ran away and emigrated to Canada ; and that 
other back room where the best of the china 
is still kept was Maggie's- -till, in Grigsby's 
eyes, she disgraced herself. 

As it all happened, stage by stage, the rooms 
were given up to the business, growing and 
mounting from the ground floor up the stair- 
case, overflowing from the front room to the 
back. At last, when Grigsby became the solitary 
inmate of the house, with nothing to live for 
save the business, what more natural than his 
retiring to the garret ? The passion of his 
life was now — collecting He had become 
very shrewd and an excellent judge of 
antiques. Year by year he bought largely 
and well, and year by year he became more 
well known amongst buyers in the Eastern 
Counties. As for his memories — well, they 
may have haunted him, or they may not. 
Did he dismiss them into the limbo of for- 

by LiOOgle 

gotten things? No one knew. He kept 
himself to himself. And year by year the 
old house began to groan more and more as 
bargain was added to bargain. 

So he came to live in the garret. 

And we find him living there in November, 
1908, when we come to the last crisis but one 
in his eventful life. 

A November afternoon. Out of season at 
Coveton-on-Sea, the dullest time of the day 
in the dullest month of the year all England 
over ! Yet not so dull, not so lost in the 
morass of the dead season that Josiah Grigsby 
has not a customer. Though there is a mist 
stealing up High Street from the sea, and 
though heavy clouds have brought an early 
twilight, someone walks up to Grigsby's door, 
opens it, and enters. This customer, at a 
most unlikely time, is a fashionably-dressed 
woman, bearing, in her clothes, her carriage 
of herself, and her manner, the stamp of 
London or some other of the great cities. 

She stood there for a moment, listening to 
the bell ringing itself out and peering about 
her into the shadowy corners. She seemed 
amazed. China was crowded upon china, 
table stood on top of table, chair upon chair ; 
a chest of drawers, bow-fronted, supported 
two oak chests, and upon these stood not 
one but five ancient warming-pans, their long 
handles gathered loosely together into the 
angle of the room. Upon everything there 
was a thick coating of dust. What could 
be seen was less than what was hidden. 
The disorder infinitely surpassed the usual 
orderly disorder affected by dealers in antiques. 
It was grotesque, chaotic, slovenly, a medley. 
The customer stared at it, smiled, and then 

She turned at the sound of a footstep 
descending the stairs, and Josiah Grigsby 
stood in the doorway, well matching the 
room in the slovenliness of his appearance. 
For a fraction of a minute she looked at him 
keenly, then took up a blue Oriental plate 
and spoke. 

u Perhaps you would not mind my looking 
round ? " she said. " I may not buy, but there 
may be things of which I should like to 
know the price." 

" Certainly," said Grigsby, taking in his 
customer's points, much as a horse-dealer 
miijht pick out those of a horse. 

She was promising. She wore rich clothes 
and expensive furs. Grigsby summed up 
these obvious values in a glance, as, indeed, 
was his custom. She might be expected to 
buy profitably^ ■ -Something else he noticed 




also, His chance customer was (all and 
good looking. Indeed, she was more, She 
carried herself with tin air of distinction. 
She had a clear white skin and masses of 
hair of that rich dark auburn which is 
known as " artists' red." Her London 
clothes displayed her beauty to advantage. 

"Yes, madam ; but a plate from a dessert 
service used at the Tuileries has some valur 
even imperfect." 

Grigsby spoke with obvious indifference a> 
to whether he sold it or not. He knew hU 

11 Still, I never buy anything which 

■ i;k rv.-ii'i-.r Tj\r, one or nis bargains/ 

,£ I do not know her," thought Grigsby, 
His hopes rose. Perhaps she was a visitor 
at some of the big houses near Coveton who 
had been told to have a look at "Grigsby's." 
He glanced out of the window, but saw no 
carriage waiting. 

"This plate would be good if it were not 
so cleverly mended," she remarked over the 
third or fourth plate she handled. 

Digitized by Google 

imperfect I rule out anything cracked or 
eh i pi >ed from my collection/' 

She spoke with a quiet finality which 
impressed Grigsby, and put the plate down. 

They went on, and he began to understand 

his customer. Hope rose in his thoughts 

for a Crown Derby tea service locked up 

in a glass case upstairs which had not been 

unlocked- ibr .months, 
urigmaf from 




•' I have good china," he said, " in some 
of the cabinets. If you see anything you 

might like " 

"That is my difficulty, I'm afraid," said 
the customer, smiling. " I cannot see it. 
Your room is so crowded, and there is so 
much dust." 

Grigsby mumbled something about being 
** single handed" and began to move a table 
which prevented access to a cabinet. His 
^efforts were doomed to be hopeless, for lack 
of space into which to move the table. 

44 Let me look at what is get-at-able first," 
suggested his customer. 

The old man showed his annoyance at 
himself. " I will light the gas," he said. 

** No, don't trouble to do that. I can see 
quite well. Poor daylight is better than gas- 
light — for looking at china." 

44 Yes," he said, "that is quite true." 
But something struck him as surprising. 
It was not the opinion about the lights, but 
the haste with which his customer spoke. 
After all, she had chosen a time of the day 
when she might have known that light would 
be poor. 

Josiah Grigsby was shrewd enough and 
sharp enough to detect that over-hastiness 
and to wonder at it. For -an instant he 
looked at her keenly, for an instant he specu- 
lated afresh who she might be, for an instant 
he was reminded curiously of his dead wife, 
but he quickly went back to the safe ground 
for estimating customers' pockets — the 
apparent value of their clothes. 

41 Surely," he told himself, "I ought to 

have got over thinking about Lucy now. 

The turn of this woman's shoulder and her 

hair are good, but no doubt there are scores 

like her." 

He brought his mind back to business. 
There was ample light for him to see his 
private marks, and to those he might surely 
add a little safely. 

He followed his customer from room to 
room. Now and again he made an adroit 
•comment ; now and again they engaged in a 
brief conversation. 

They came thus to the upstairs room which 
•contained the best china, the lightest room 
in the house at that hour. It faced west, 
and near the window in a good light stood a 
piece of Nankin. 

44 1 like that," said the customer. 
44 Thirty shillings," said Grigsby. "A real 
old piece ; genuine Nankin. It came out of 
a wreck." 

But she shook her head. 

Not for the first time Grigsby was dis- 

by LiOOgle 

appointed. His customer had put things 
down over and over again. Nothing was 
good enough. Prices were too high, for 
imperfect pieces. The pause during which a 
bargain trembles in the balance had always 
ended in one way. 

44 Well," said the old dealer, with a shrug, 
44 you can have it for twenty-live shillings. 
I've been doing badly lately. I've hardly 
sold a thing this week." 

The accent of truth seemed to creep out, 
and the customer thought she detected it. 
She started. There was no doubt in her 
mind. She saw that want of method and 
slovenliness were having their usual result. 
The business was not paying well. 

Without saying anything she took out a 
sovereign and half a sovereign from her purse 
and gave them to Grigsby. 

44 No. It's worth thirty shillings. I shall 
be glad to have it," she said. 

Then she looked up on the wall. 

44 So you still have the Lowestoft plates?" 

44 Yes. Fifteen shillings a plate. You have 

seen them before? I do not remember " 

44 1 have seen them many times. I have 
dusted them. They want dusting now." 
44 1 don't understand," said Grigsby, slowly. 
44 They used to be twelve-and-six," said his 
surprising customer. 

Then her face lit up with a smile. Her 
eyes, alert and keen, were reading her father's 
face. She was anxious to read his thoughts. 
She turned and faced the light. 

And Josiah Grigsby leaned sideways over 
his case of Crown Derby and gazed. 
44 Margaret ! " he exclaimed. 
44 Yes," she said, stretching out a hand, but 
trembling. 44 Yes— dad ! " 

She sketched out her hand, but he did not 
take it. 

44 Yes," he said at last, seeming a little 
dazed, 4t it's you, Maggie. But I did not 
know you. You took me in completely. I 
had a hint just at first, something about you 
like your mother. But 1 put it aside/' 

She smiled tentatively — pitiably. Then 
she began to speak* hurriedly, as if in frantic 
haste to save this crisis in her life by mere 

44 Didn't I do it well ? " she asked ; k4 the 
grand lady, the good customer ? I've practised 
it, you know. I meant to take you in, dad. 
I wanted to see how you were, without your 
knowing, I said to myself in the train, 
4 Perhaps I'll disclose who I am ; peihaps I 
won't. Ill just see.' Then, when you 
took off that five shillings, I couldn't help 
it. I just had to tell you. I was afraid 

Original from 



it might be like that with you, I want lo 
help you, if you'll let me. That is why 
I've come ! " 

[hen she 
stopped, not 
because of any- 
thing which 
was spoken, 
hut because of 
what she felt 
to be still chad 
against her — 
cold, hard, and 

t( 1 never 
expect to sell 
much in No- 
vember," said 
her father, with 
a frosty smile, 
"That piece of 
Nankin is 
h e a v y a n d 
clumsy, i 
wanted a little 
current cash;" 

11 I don't be- 
1 i e v e you, 
dad," she cut in quickly t 
w i t h u nsuccessfid 

" I have plenty at 
the bank," said Grigsby, 
quietly. " Believe it or 
not, I have bought this 
house since you were 

been a 
11 1 h> 

He had meant to use harsher words, but 
he was weighing his decision in his mind, 
and for the moment was unwilling to commit 

" Oh, dad, how splendid I " 
l)ut her voice was unsteady 
and anxious. 

With a gesture of annoyance 
Grigsby brushed her exclamation 
aside as something quite irrele- 
vant to the point at issue, and 
came now to his own standpoint. 
u So you've come back, 
lie asked. "Hasn't it 
success ? Are you in 

she de- 

I look it?" 
at bay. 
Her clothes, her hat, her furs 
were not merely expensive and 
good, but were fashionable and 
in perfect taste, 

" No, Let me look at you." 
He spoke the words slowly 
and deliberately, 


Original from 

by Google 



She winced, but stood there proudly, in all 
her mature beauty, the promise of her girl- 
hood more than fulfilled, conscious that this 
was a test from which she could easily emerge 
triumphant. How like her mother she was 
she could not know ; yet she was unlike her. 
She was Lucy Grigsby, refined. London and 
Paris had taught her how to carry herself, 
how to wear her clothes, how to put on just 
sufficient jewellery to seem part of herself. 
Yet in essentials, Grigsby reflected, she was 
Lucy, the worst in Lucy. And suddenly all 
the past rose up and blinded the man whose 
life Lucy Grigsby had ruined. 

" And what are you doing ? " he demanded, 
brutally, secure in his fortress of narrow 
views and his armour of the hard virtues of 
an English country town and buttressed by 
what he deemed that Past had taught him. 
" I'm earning my living." 

"Well I'm not ashamed of it. I am a 
model. The best in my line in the London 
studios, or Paris either." 

" It's a poor best," said Grigsby, very 

It was brutally said. Yet Grigsby said it 
in what he held to be righteousness. Things 
had gone against him all his life ; his wife, 
his son, his daughter had all turned out 
badly. But nothing had hurt him so much 
as his daughter's wild and foolish flight from 
the dullness of Coveton and her solitary life 
with him in search of what she called the joy 
of life. Moreover, she had stolen a ten- 
pound note to do it with. When she wrote 
to him a year after that flight he wrote back 
to the address she then gave him, and said 
that on no account would he ever forgive her. 
Seven years had gone by and now, in that 
dusty, untidy upstairs room, which had once 
been htrr bedroom,. he was still of the same 

And it all came back to him now. She 
was bad ; she bad shown herself that. She 
had longed for what was gay, foolish, and wild, 
and stolen money from him to gratify her 
desire to see life. To see life, forsooth ! 
He felt angry now — passionately angry. All 
that had been bad in his wife lived again in 
her child. He saw it only too clearly. 

She stepped back. Her fathers anger 
against her hardened her. She had lived 
straight ever since her flight from that dull, 
drab town of Coveton. But he did not 
seem to care enough even to ask if she had 
done so. He seemed to take it for granted 
that a model could not be honest. Well, she 
had lived, that she knew ! She had rejoiced 

Vo..x,L-,8 , 

in the colour and beauty and stir of life \ 
But it all came to this — she was condemned 
unheard. The very absurdity of the hard, 
narrow judgment overwhelmed her. And the 
money she had come to repay might stay in 
her pocket and her words of contrition she 
had framed remain unspoken. She laughed 
outright, bitterly. 

" What do you expect to gain by 
coming here?" asked Josiah Grigsby, with 

11 1 was just curious," she said, slowly, 
quietly, and proudly, after a pause. " I 
wanted to see how things were down here in 

And somehow he knew that was untrue. 
But in his perversity he accepted it. 

" Do you still steal money when you want 
a thing ? " 

She marvelled at his hardness. But she 
could be equally hard. 

11 Do you still blame mother for all your 
troubles ? Do you still think people can live 
without any pleasures in life ? You tried to 
starve me of everything good in life, of all 
the joy of living. I asked you for the money 
and you wouldn't give it me. But I was 
determined to go. And I am not sorry I 
went. I ha v e brought you the money back.- 
Perhaps I came back for something else 
also. But what is the good of talking about 
that now ? Do you think I could live witn 
you and be happy ? I can find joy in life, 
and my work is well paid. It's honest, too, 
though you are too ignorant to know it, and 
it's worth doing. I've had a day's holiday. 
Now I'll go back to my work. How absurd 
of me ever to think that I could step out 
of the stream of life into a backwater like 

Josiah gazed at her, and still judged her as 
his bitter memories and his narrow views 
prompted him. 

" Fine words," he said, with the utter folly 
of his bitter thoughts—" fine words butter no 

Nevertheless, even then, she made a last 
appeal. She took a ten-pound note out of 
her purse and put it on the dusty glass case. 

"Come," she urged, ignoring his cruel, 

stubborn judgment, " can't you see that I am 

not what you think I am ? I am not bad — 

you must see it. Won't you let me help you ? 

You are alone. All these things want dusting 

and arranging and marking. You are living 

alone amidst all these dead, inanimate 

treasures of yours. You want a little life, 

a little happiness, a little comfort. Let me 

come back to you." 

"Original from 




He did not answer at once, and for a 
moment the quiet of the house stole about 

" Don't waste your pity on me," he said, at 
last. " You chose your path for yourself 
seven years ago. Go out of that door, go 
down those steps, and go along it. I can't 
forgive you." 

She drew herself up and fastened the clasp 
of her fur stole. Then, with a shrug of her 
shoulders, but without speaking, she turned 
and went. She was very near tears. 

And Grigsby was left alone, standing there 
near the window, by his dusty case of Crown 
Derby. He listened for the closing of the 
front door, then let his thoughts have free 

He stood there silent, memories rising up 
one by one, visions of the past growing clear 
and fading away again. He was just an 
embittered old man, bent-shouldered and 
unkempt, hugging to himself his absurd sense 
of righteousness and satisfying himself upon 
his dry and barren notion that somehow he 
was getting square with the wrongs which had 
been done him in the past. 

And gradually darkness filled the room, and 
the figure by the window might have been 
part of the lumber crowded against the walls. 
He had quite forgotten that what was good in 
his dead wife, her warm, loving heart, might 
be alive in her daughter, just as much as 
what was foolish and evil. 

Meanwhile Margaret Grigsby was taking a 
ticket back to London. She had evidently 
come with good hope, with a single ticket. 

And there it might have ended, but for a 

Josiah Grigsby went on with his life from 
that November day forward as if nothing had 

He went to sales, he attended to customers 
who lived away, and he waited on such 
chance customers as came to him. The 
craze for antiques was fast becoming more 
and more general, and, like many another, 
Grigsby found little difficulty in making 
enough to live on. 

He lived on so very little, however, that 
he was making provision for his old age 
without any anxious effort. Every pound he 
received gave ten shillings to his savings. He 
was in a fair way to become a miser. That 
November saw this lonely, miserly life of his 
more firmly fixed, more deeply rooted. One 
of his favourite occupations, which he set 
himself after that strange meeting with his 
daughter, was calculating how long it would 

take him to make and save a thousand 
pounds. He found the occupation entranc- 
ing. He began to advertise, and in the 
w f eeks before Christmas his trade was excel- 
lent. Schemes passed through his shrewd 
brain whereby his new objective could be 
quickly attained. He would let no oppor- 
tunity of buying "good stuff" slip through 
his fingers now. He knew that the better it 
was the better profit it would eventually 
yield. But there was something pathetic about 
this scheme of his. Would he live long 
enough to attain it? There was also a 
dangerous fallacy underlying it. The rigid 
economy he was practising was undermining 
his health. There were petty economies in 
food which he imposed upon himself that 
winter which might well help to shorten his 
life, and shortening his life meant reducing 
his chance of saving his thousand pounds. 
So much for the risk and the fallacy in his 
scheme and the pitiable folly of his petty 

Some days he would be away all day, 
buying, and on those days the door of the 
house would be locked and a card tied on 
the knocker. That card was always there 
when he was out. 

11 Back at six o'clock," it would read, or, 
"Back to-morrow morning." 

When it was not there he was somewhere 
in the house, in his garret, poring over books 
on china marks and furniture styles, or 
cooking a miserable meal in his stove 
there, or else he was in some one or other 
of his crammed, choked - up rooms re- 
inspecting one of his bargains or attending 
to customers. 

Such was his life in those months after his 
daughter's visit, and it is remarkable that no 
harm came to him. The wintry weather was 
often cruelly keen, yet he caught no cold ; 
he spent less and less on food, but his badly- 
nourished body stood the strain. He was 
alone for hour after hour, and no one would 
have missed him had accident befallen 
him. But no untoward happening befell 
him, and week by week, month by month, 
his balance at the bank increased and his 
life went on, justified— so he deemed it — 
by its success. * 

The winter passed, spring gave place to 
summer, and summer to autumn. Another 
winter began. The Coveton season had 
brought Grigsby a harvest. Thanks to that, 
to his advertisements, and to his more and 
more exacting economy of his expenses on 
himself, his bank balance rose by nearly 
three hundred pounds. And his rooms were 

by Google 

uii mi i ivj 




more crowded than ever. But Grigsby's body 
was little but skin and bones. 

It was the evening of the last day of 
November, 1909. The gloomy twilight had 
passed into darkness, 

Doubtless in many houses in Coveton 
there were pleasant scenes of home life, 
cheerful firesides, comfortable chairs drawn 
up to the genial warmth. But in Grigsby's 
house in High Street everything was wrapped 
in the darkness into which the twilight had 
deepened. In addition to the darkness there 
were silence and cold. Yet the house was 
not empty, and the front door was unlatched 
and unlocked. A turn of the handle would 
give admittance to anyone who cared to 
At last someone did enter. 
The bell rang itself out and the silence 
seemed deeper than before. 
"Mr, Grigsby!" 

Once again the silence seemed to increase. 
Then the girl who had entered struck a 
match and lit the candle she carried. The 
light showed her pale face, crowned by black 
hair, her ill-fitting, shabby genteel clothes. 
She was employed at the draper's opposite. 
" Mr. Grigsby ! " 

There was evident anxiety in her voice. 
It carried upstairs. It reached Josiah 
Grigsby's ears ; but he did not answer it — 
indeed, he could not. Earlier in the day his 
extraordinary life had come to a crisis. 

Receiving no answer, the girl began to 
ascend the stairs. 

" Mr. Grigsby ! " she called at each landing. 
She peered into all the rooms. Weird 
shapes rose out of the darkness as the light 
of her candle dispelled it. But there was 
no sign of the owner of all that piled up 
furniture which, in the flickering light of the 
candle's unsteady flame, looked so grotesquely 
"Mr. Grigsby!" 

At last she found him at the foot of the 
stairs leading to the garret. 

He looked up at her. He could just do 
that. His brain was clear. He wondered 
who it was who had come to him in his 
extremity. But he could not speak. He 
had been in one of the ground-floor rooms 
when he felt the stroke of paralysis coming 
on, and he had hastened upstairs, but not 
soon enough. He had fallen there, at the 
foot of the stairs to the garret, and he lay there 
on his side- 

She shrank back. 

For months past she had expected some- 
thing like this. From the shop opposite she 
had watched the house daily. 

That day several people had gone to the 
door, opened it, entered, and come away, 
evidently unattended to. There had been 
no card on the knocker. Now she under- 
stood. All the time he had been lying there. 

She saw at once that he could not speak, 
yet saw her and understood her. 

Her first horror passing, she began to think 
clearly. She realized what had happened — 
that, after all, the crisis was not so bad as it 
might have been. 

" I'm glad I've been watching over you, 
dad," she said, steadily. " I've been in 
Coveton for a long time, you know, in the 
shop opposite. Yes, the disguise is pretty 
good, isn't it? But it is a disguise. If I 
hadn't been watching, you might have been 
here all night ; you might have — well, you 
might have died here, in the darkness, by 

She shuddered. 

" I had to disguise myself," she went on. 
" It was the only way in which it was possible 
for me to look after you." 

She had seen recognition come into his 

She knelt down by him. She had loved 
him all along. In a strange way she knew 
that she and her mother owed him some- 
thing which it was in her power to repay. 
But it was nothing short of a miracle that 
her love had survived his cruelty to her and 
that she was there, one of the strange 
miracles always testifying to the treasure in 
every human heart. 

" I couldn't let you be here in Coveton all 
alone," she whispered. " I have come to 
help you now a second time. I have been 
keeping watch ever since the summer." 

His eyes filled. Her love had conquered, 
and she saw that it had. He had been lying 
there helpless so long— thinking. 

She bent and kissed him and went to fetch 
help. . . . 

Thus it is that to-day "Grigsby's" is 
changed. The door is smart with white 
paint, the brass knocker shines. Within 
things are dusted and well arranged, and 
everything is priced and numbered. " Josiah 
Grigsby, Furniture Dealer," has become 
" Grigsby, Antiques," and the ghosts of the 
past are buried. But you can go there and 
understand for yourself what they once were. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Dekind tKe Speakers Chair. 


(new seriks.) 
Illustrated hy E. T. Reed. 

IN the nine years that have 

a i tkk NINE elapsed since, peeping From 

YEARS. Behind the Speaker's Chair, 

I told the readers of The 
Straxd Magazine what I saw and heard, 
mighty matters have happened at Westminster. 
A great Party, 
apparen t I y 
seated to the 
right of the 
Speaker, have 
been swept 
from power. 
Another, long 
wandering in 
the wilder- 
ness whither 
they we re 
driven with 
their tattered 
Home Rule 
flag, reign in 
their stead, 
reinstated in 
power after 
a third Gene 
ral Election 
fought in the 
space of five 
years. We 
have a n ew 
Speaker and 
a new Lord 
The hand of 
Death and 
the incon- 
stancy of con- 
stituents have 
changed the 
personnel of 
the House of 
Com mons. 
The General 
Election of 
ryio, by a 1 
slight move- A i t;w tjp> h. u 

by Google 

ment of the pendulum, brought some old 
faces back to the familiar scene. Bm 
the proportion of members of the newest 
House who sat in the Session of 1902 is 

One towering figure, laid low by unexpeo 


1 ted stroke, 
leaves the 
House infi- 
nitely poorer 
by reason of 
his absence- 
Mr. Cham- 
berlain is one 
of less than 
a dozen men 
known to the 
House of 
Com mons 
during the 
last for t y 
years who 
added to the 
scene a touch 
of ever fresh 
personal in 
terest. If he 
spoke he 
attention. If 
he sat silent, 
eyes were 
riveted upon 
him with e\- 
pectat ion thai 
any moment 
he might in- 
tervene in 
Others of his 
generat ion 
wielding the 
magic wand 
were Robert 
1 owe, John 
Bright, and, 
in supreme 



Original from 



degree, Gladstone and Disraeli. The newly- 
elected House, like its immediate predecessor, 
presents no parallel lo these personages. It 
occasionally happens — once last year the 
pleasure was realized — that Mr. Asquith and 
Mr. Balfour, coming to grips across the 
Table, recall famous encounters of the past. 
One has upon the other that power of 
inspiration to supremest effort mutually exer- 
cised by Gladstone and Disraeli in their 
prime. In the assemblies at Westminster 
they possess monopoly of the gift. 

An influence largely respon- 
new rules, sible for the change in the 

modern House of Commons 
compared with some predecessors is the 
ordinance prosaically known as the Eleven 
o'Clock Rule. In other days the Speaker 
took the Chair at four o'clock in the after- 
noon. Questions commenced at half- 
past, proceeded at indefinite length, and 
debate following might go on till day 
broke over the half - somnolent figures 
on the benches and the paper - littered 
floor. Under rules that have steadily 
grown in stringency Parliamentary proceed- 
ings go forward with the regularity of a 
clock duly wound up. To a dead certainty, 
debate will open at approach to four o'clock ; 
with equal surety, save when extension of 
time has been arranged by formal Resolution, 
closing at eleven. 

By strange contrariness re- 

shortened forms of procedure that have 

speeches, changed all that are due, not 

to the restlessness of Radicals, 
but to the enterprise of Conservatives. The 
Closure, most beneficent of Parliamentary 
reforms, was established under the placid 
rule of W. H. Smith. Mr. Balfour has been 
personally responsible for most of the other 
new rules that have transformed what was a 
bear-garden into a sort of Berkeley Square 
pasture. But, to quote a homely proverb, 
you cannot eat your cake and have it. In 
an assembly tied and bound by stringent 
regulations you cannot have the rollicking 
fun that from time to time burst forth and 
took possession of a practically unfettered 

Apart from the automatic influence of 
Standing Orders promulgated during the 
past thirty years, a condition of affairs has 
been created that has totally changed the 
spirit, consequently the custom, of the 
House of Commons. The habit of oratory 
has disappeared. Gladstone was our last 
orator. Speeches two hours in length, illu- 
minated by classical quotation, concluding 

Digitized byG< 

with a glittering peroration, are to-day foreign 
to Parliamentary debate. Even in the House 
of Lords the habit, though not absolutely 
dead, soundly sleeps. The fact is, oratory 
cannot flourish in the dull hours between 
luncheon and dinner. What it thrives upon 
is the glowing post-prandial period, bfginning 
about half-past ten o'clock, when patriots, 
cheered with good food and wholesome wine, 
flock down in dinner dress to hear well- 
matched gladiators pound away at each other. 
Then from crowded benches rise the exul- 
tant cheer and the not less inspiriting shout 
of dissent. Only on rare occasions, when 
great issues are at stake, does the old familiar, 
fiery glow possess the House in the chill of a 
February afternoon, or the languor of broad 
daylight in summer-time. 

In his charming preface to Mr. Barry 
O'Brien's illuminating monograph on John 
Bright, recently published, Mr. Birrell puts 
the case in convincing form. " Bright's 
speech at the breakfast given in London to 
Mr. Lloyd Garrison, in June, 1867, is," he 
writes, "perhaps the most beautiful speech 
ever made in the English tongue on a public 
occasion. It was just like Bright to be able 
to speak as well immediately after breakfast 
as at any other period of the day." Pro- 
found observation is evidenced in the last 

It happens to-day that both the 
the force Prime Minister and the Leader 
of example, of the Opposition, the former 
in more perfect form, have the 
priceless gift of compressing within the space 
of half an hour, at most forty minutes, all 
that is useful or necessary to say on a par- 
ticular topic, however important. Like the 
quality of mercy this benefaction is twice 
blest. Not only is time saved by their terse- 
ness, but example is set which has far- 
reaching influence. When Mr. Asquith and 
Mr. Balfour habitually confine their speeches 
to the half-hour limit it would be indecorous 
for members of less lofty position to maunder 
over the full hour. 

Mr. Gladstone was largely responsible for 
the flux of words that swamped debate in his 
day. If he rarely sat down without speaking 
over a minimum space of an hour and a 
half, why should private members labour at 
compression of native verbosity ? From a 
business point of view the new condition of 
debate is excellent. But it helps to explain 
the altered state of things that has come over 
the House of Commons in recent Sessions, 
with the inevitable result of inducing dullness. 
It is business, but it is not magnificent. 





\ N V INIT E L Y POO R fcR + ' ' 

In supplement of the opera- 
k evolution, tion of the new rules, there 

is a distinct variation in the 
average class of members now sitting as 
compared with that familiar up to the General 
Election of 1900. In the matter of social 
position the average has been distinctly 
towered The cook's son of Kipling's song 
lias elbowed the Duke's son out of his 
hereditary claim upon counties and family 
boroughs. As I have said, at the January 
Election of last year there was something in 
the nature of a rally* A do^en, perhaps a 
score, of old members returning slightly 
leavened the mass, The general character 
remained The nt^w House of Commons 
is, in the main, a body of working men 
in the sense of being dependent on their 
labour for their living, and of business men t 
heads of great trading, manufacturing, or 
constructive concerns. like the impatient 
visitor to the circus, what they desire is that 
you should "cut the cackle and come to the 
T osses," They have no patience with circum- 
locution, whether verbal or operative. What 
they want is to see things done, not to hear 
them said. This temperament, whilst con- 
ducing to the progress of business, is not 
calculated to enlarge the gaiety of the House. 

It is no secret that His late 
opening OF Majesty, who had a keen eye 
parliament, for spectacle, favoured the idea 

of the opening ceremony of 
the Parliamentary Session by the Sovereign 
in person being conducted under the historic 
roof of Westminster Hall. In the first year 
of his reign a joint select Committee of the 
House of Lords and the House of Commons 
was appointed to consider the whole question. 
Objection was taken at the outset on the 
ground that through the ages members of 
both Houses had been specially bidden 
to meet in the Chambers specially built for 
their accommodation. As a matter of fact 
that is not the case. The summons to Lords 
and Commons is to meet "at Westminster," 
not in any particular portion or annexe of the 
Palace. Henry IL presided over a Parlia- 
ment of his Barons gathered in the Great 
Hall. In the time of Richard IL aChamber 
was specially built adjacent to Westminster 


% 1 

■speeches illuminated by classical QUOTA- 


by Google 

Original from 



Hall, and therein Parlia- 
ment saL In Edward 
VI/s reign the House of 
Commons met in St. 
Stephen's Chapel. 

There was, therefore, 
nothing formidable in 
this preliminary objec- 
tion. Inquiry as to the 
practicability of the 
scheme accordingly pro- 
ceeded. It was found 
that the floor of West- 
minster Hall would seat 
from two thousand to 
two thousand five hun- 
dred persons. If galleries 
were erected, another 
thousand might find ac- 
commodation. The cost 
of movable seats, fittings r 
robing rooms, and other 
accessories was estimated 
at the widely varying sum 
of from three thousand 
pounds to ten thousand 
pounds. This represents 
the original expenditure. 
On suhsequentoceasions, 
the seats and fittings 
being brought out of 
storage, the expense 
would not exceed two 
thousand pounds* 

Further question arose 
with respect to acoustics, 
Would any reasonable 
proportion of the three 
thousand spectators be 
able to hear the King 
read his Speech ? Sir John Taylor, of the 
Board of Works, thought not. On tire other 
hand, the Speaker (Mr. Gully) was able to 
testify that he had addressed, from a platform 
set between the flight of steps at the end of 
the Hal I j a body of one thousand five 
hundred Volunteers, who experienced no 
difficulty in hearing him, Moreover, had not 
Sir William Harcourt, while Home Secretary; 
made himself heard by a cohort of a thousand 
Nfetropolitan Police mustered in the Hall ? 
In the end the Committee resolved to see 
what might be done with the accommodation 
already at the disposal of Parliament before 
embarking on new enterprise, 

The scene in the precincts 

A PERILOUS of the House of Ixirds when 

PASSAGE. the Sovereign opens Parliament 

in person is sometimes one of 


turmoil, not free from personal peril When, 
after long retirement, Queen Victoria presided 
over the ceremony in the Session of 1876, the 
rush of Commons for places at the Bar oF 
the House of Lords was so tumultuous that 
Mr, Disraeli, on his way thither at the head 
of the procession, was for an anxious 
moment literally carried off his feet. It was 
noted six months later that recurrence of the 
episode was avoided by acceptance of a 
Peerage, When next Queen Victoria ap- 
proached the Throne in the House of Lords 
she was escorted by the Premier, now Marl 
of Beaconsfield, bearing aloft the sword of 
Stale, In 1901, when King Edward made 
his first a4>pearance on the stately scene, the 
rush was even fiercer. Mr. TrittOfi, an 
inoffensive and esteemed member, was 
seriously hurt, whilst Sir Henry Fowler 

by Google 

Original from 

J 44 



seemed for a while in peril of his life. It 
is suggested that, following precedent estab- 
lished by Dizzy, Sir Henry's thoughts were 
on this occasion turned upon a Peerage, 
since acquired* 

When on an early day of this month King 
George for the first time seats himself cm the 
Throne to inaugurate a new Parliament 
elderly members may venture to take part 
in the ceremony without fear of loss of 
life or limb* Arrangements have been made 
whereby the accommodation for members of 
the House of Commons will be appreciably 
enlarged. Standing room at the Bar will be 
provided for two hundred and fifty six. In 
the galleries usually occupied by members 
and strangers, one hundred and forty ei^ht 
will find seats. In the space behind there 
is standing room for fifty-four. On the 



whole, seated or standing, no fewer than 
four hundred and fifty eight Commoners may 
view the ceremony with more or less comfort. 

Though in accordance with 
swKARtNO-iN. summons issued simultaneously 

with promulgation of Dissolu- 
tion the first Parliament of King George V. 
met on January 31st for the dispatch of 
business, at least a week will elapse before 
business really begins with delivery of the 
Speech from the Throne and debate on the 
Address thereupon arising. The interval 
will be occupied by the ceremony known as 
swearing-in members. Those familiar with 
the performance realize in it something worse 
than waste of time, Some of its episodes are 
not wholly free from approach to sacrilege. 

What happens is that after Ministers, lead- 
ing members of the Opposition, and other 
Original from 




Privy Councillors have more or less comfort- 
ably taken the oath and signed the Roll of 
Parliament, there is an ugly rush of members 
from both sides to clutch stray copies of the 
Holy Bible laid on the tables brought in and 
set on the floor below the Mace. At each 
table the Clerk and the Assistant-Clerk ad- 
minister the oath. As many members as 
can shoulder their way in and grab their 
share of a Bible, hear the oath recited, 
kiss the Book, and make another dash for 
a place in the queue formed on the way to 
the Roll of Parliament lying open on the 
table. Having signed it, they, following the 
Clerk to the Chair, are personally introduced 
to the Speaker, shake his hand, and dis- 

Among other disadvantages this tumultuous 
process almost invites evasion. To sign the 
Roll of Parliament is not only necessary, but 
is regarded in the iamily circle as a distinction. 
To fight for a place at the table in order to 
take the oath is an item in the performance 
deliberate omission of which an easy con- 
science may condone. 

A well-known member of a former Parlia- 
ment confided to me that though he had 
taken his seat, being returned at a General 
Election, he had never taken the oath. He 
went down to the House prepared to go 
through the ordained observances, and was 
twice repulsed in effort to find a place at the 
table where the oath was administered. He 
had an engagement in the country, and time 
for catching his train was limited. Sudden 
temptation besetting him, he quietly fell in 
line with members on their way to sign the 
Roll, wrote his name on it, shook the Speaker 
warmly by the hand, and caught his train. 

They manage this thing better 

ways at at Washington. I was present 
Washington, at the opening of Congress 
summoned under the first duly- 
elected Presidency of Mr. Roosevelt, and 
watched with interest the process of swearing- 
in. As is the case at Westminster, the Speaker 
(" Uncle Joe ") first took the oath. That was 
the sole point of resemblance between the 
two performances. "Uncle Joe" resuming 
his seat, the Clerk called upon members 
representing a particular State to advance to 
the space fronting the platform on which 
the uncanopied chair of the unwigged, not- 
gowned Speaker of Congress sits. Forming 
up in lines representing the full muster of 
the State representation, the newly-elected 
members heard the oath recited, and each 
man, having brought with him a copy of the 
Bible, kissed it in seal of his oath of loyalty 

litized by Google 

VoL xll-19. 

to the Constitution. State by State marched 
to the front, paraded, took the oath, and 
dispersed to make room for the next on the 
rota. It was all over in half an hour, whereas 
the performance at the T. R., Westminster, 
whilst lacking its decorum, occupies three or 
four precious days of a Session never long 
enough for the work it undertakes. 

One happy accident attendant 

re election on the birth of the Parliament 

of that meets this month is the 

ministers, absence of necessity for 

members composing the 
Government to seek re-election. The con- 
stitutional idea underlying the practice is 
that a member, having accepted a place of 
profit under the Crown, ought to give his 
constituents opportunity of demurring. The 
custom had its birth in days when political 
honesty had not reached the state of per- 
fection attained in our happy time. In the 
circumstances of to-day it is recognized in 
both political camps as an absurdity whose 
only approach to seriousness lies in the in- 
fliction of a vexatious penalty on individuals, 
and not infrequently some inconvenience 
upon the public service. 

During the brief Premiership of Sir Henry 
Campbell - Banner man, a case of peculiar 
hardship arising under the ancient rule, Mr. 
Balfour, with mingled chivalry and shrewd- 
ness, intimated that if a motion abrogating 
the rule were submitted from the Treasury 
Bench it would be favourably considered by 
the Opposition. 

Mr. Asquith and his colleagues having been 
in office at the date of Dissolution, and being 
reinstated as the result of the General Election, 
are fortunate in escaping its consequences. 

Though Westminster Hall 

a Barmecide has not yet been brought into 

feast. use for supreme Parliamentary 

ceremony, it played a minor 
but attractive part in connection with the 
Coronation of King Edward VII. It occurred 
to the Kitchen Committee of the House of 
Commons that it would be a convenience to 
members, and might incidentally result 
in the turning of an honest penny, if they 
provided luncheon for them and their wives 
invited to be present at the ceremony in 
Westminster Abbey. 

The proposal was received with such 
avidity that the Committee found themselves 
embarrassed on the threshold of their enter- 
prise. No fewer than one thousand three 
hundred tickets were purchased at the price 
of twelve shillings and sixpence each. Where 
might such a multitude be seated? Certainly 




not in the fullest range of the dining-room 
suite of the House. To someone occurred the 
happy thought of transforming Westminster 
Hall into a banqueting chamber. 

The Kitchen Committee rose to the height 
of the occasion. They contracted for a 
supply of tables and chairs. An army of 
waiters were engaged. Wholesale orders for 
meats and drinks were lodged. Everything 
went on swimmingly. 

Then fell a bolt out of the 

no money blue. Almost on the eve of 

rkturxed. the appointed date of the 
Coronation His Majesty the 
King fell ill The 
Coronation was 
indefinitely post- 
poned, and the 
Kitchen Com- 
mittee found 
themselves with 
of meat, acres of 
vegetables, not to 
speak of a squad- 
ron of waiters, on 
their hands. There 
were also lakes of 
liquor of various 
That would keep, 
and the waiters 
could be paid off 
But what was to 
be done with the 
many meats, and 
what about the 
money paid for 
tickets? Must it 
be refunded j even 
in part ? 

On that point 
the Kitchen Com- 
mittee were unani- 
mous. They had 
got the fish, they 
had got the joints, 
they had got the money too, and the latter 
they meant to keep. A circular couched in 
dignified language was sent round, announc- 
ing that they found it impossible to refund 
the money. '* While acknowledging the hard- 
ships thus inflicted upon purchasers of tickets, 
the Committee," so this delightful State docu- 
ment ran, "rely upon the good feeling of the 
House to place a favourable construction on 
their action. 3 ' That was all very well. But, 
naturally, legislators of whatever political 
complexion, who had paid twelve shillings 



and sixpence for luncheon and, at the 
critical moment, found the cupboard bare, 
may be excused if they showed themselves 
a little restive. 

Then the genius of Colonel 

mark Mark Lock wood, Chairman of 

lock wood's the Kitchen Committee, shone 

strategy, with resplendent light. The 

Coronation and the luncheon 

were appointed to take place on a Thursday, 

On the Wednesday, when ticket - holders 

learned the worst, the Colonirl buzzed about, 

asking them to dine on the following night 

at the House, and to lunch on Friday at the 

expense of the 
Kitchen Commit- 
tee, There was 
the stored - up 
food, most of it 
cooked. It had 
to be eaten. Let 
them come along 
and spend a merry 
evening and a 
cheerful luncheon- 

His colleagues 
on the Committee 
began to be afraid. 
They anticipated 
a rush that would 
break down the 
The Colonel 
smiled — accord- 
ing to some re- 
ports, even 
winked. If others 
were anxious, he 
was unperturbed* 
1 1 was m ade k no w n 
later that, with 
military instinct, 
he had surveyed 
the ground and 
devised h is 
plan of campaign. 
The Scotch estimates were down for Thurs- 
day night, and only a score or two of Scotch 
members would be in attendance. As for 
Friday, the House being up at half- past five 
in the afternoon, the bulk of members did 
not think it worth while to attend, adding the 
fragment of a sitting to the week-end holiday. 
Accordingly it came to pass that the 
claims on the Committee's hospitality were 
very small. But, as the Colonel cheerily 
said, "they couldn't say they hadn't been 

Original from 


Tales of 




Illustrated ty H M, Brock, RX 

LAKE was being tried by 
dormitory court-martial. On 
the wash st and — cleared fur 
the occasion — sat Pondersby, 
who had attained to the 
dignity of the Middle Fifth, 
was an admitted master of 
the wily lob, and stood a good chance of 
getting into the school shooting eight this 
summer term. He was therefore, a figure 
of importance in the oligarchy of his house, 
and lost no occasion of impressing this on 


the smaller boys. Also he sported pyjamas 
of a particularly outre pattern, and none 
dared gainsay him. 

On beds on either side of President 
Ponders by sat the jury. The prisoner stood, 
in custody, facing the president. 

by Google 

"Prisoner in the dock," said Pondersby, 
"you have heard the evidence of the Prose- 
cutor for the Crown, Do you deny that on 
Saturday, April 18th, at 9.2a in the morning, 
you were seen in Kensington Gardens 
marching in the costume of a B.P. scout ? " 
"Yes," admitted the prisoner, sullenly. 
"If you mean * No, you don't deny it/ 
then bally well say ' No,' " corrected the 
President with severity, "Further, do you 
deny that you were marching in company 
with eight bally girl scouts in costume? " 

11 We were going to the 
High Street station to get 
out into the country, and 
one of them was my cousin," 
put in the prisoner, 

11 That, prisoner, is no 
valid defence to the accusa- 
tion. You are accused of 
being such a blooming little 
smug and scug as to play 
about at scouting with a pack 
of girls* thereby bringing 
discredit on your school" 

14 1 wasn't in house colours 
or school colours," pleaded 
the prisoner, hunting despe- 
rately for an avenue of legal 

M Gentlemen of the jury," 
summed up the President, 
judicially, |4 in this answer 
the prisoner makes admis- 
sion of the seriousness of 
his case. If he had been 
in school colours or house 
colours his guilt would have 
been ten times worse. We 
must therefore admit this 
defence as extenuating cri- 
cu instances in assigning 
punishment to him. But first of all, gentle- 
men of the jury, it is for you to say whether 
you find him guilty or not guilty of being 
a bally little suffragette scug and smug," 

11 Guilty ! " " Guilty ! " came the responses 
of the jurymen. 

Original from 




" Prisoner in the dock," said President 
Pondersby, "it is my painful duty to pass 
sentence on you for having brought ridicule 
on North Close and on your dormitory. You 
are adjudged by 
your peers a 
petticoated little 
suffragette of the 
first water, and 
to-morrow after- 
noon before the 
whole house as- 
sembled I sen- 
tence you to go 
through your 
sccfuting drill in 
the backyard in 
petticoats and a 
girl's wig. Fllfake 
up the petticoats 
and the wig for 
you. Gentlemen of the 
jury, you are dismissed." 

To the house-master's 
study there floated roars 
of laughter from the 
backyard the next after- 
noon. He wondered 
vaguely what the joke 
might be, but it would 
have been undignified for him to inquire. 

For weeks Blake's school-life was not 
pleasant. House- mates and class-mates rang 
the changes on girls, petticoats, and back- 
hair until he was sick of himself and the 
summer term and the world in general. He 
brooded darkly over it. 

Then one morning on the house notice- 
board appeared a letter under the printed 
heading of Manor House, Cheltborough 
College. It was a challenge to a shooting 
match with North Close. 

"Signed ' Francis Blake,"' read out 
Pondersby. "Is that a relation of yours, 
Blake ? " 

"My cousin," replied Blake, "and a 
ripping good shot. I don't suppose you'd 
stand much chance against Manor House. 
They've got a fine team. I wouldn't advise 
you to accept." 

"Oh, ho!" replied Pondersby. "Not 
much chance, you think ! As though we of 
North Close couldn't lick those Cheltborough 
fellows to a jelly. Why, they wear bally top- 
hats and waiters' evening dress on Sundays ! 
Of course I'll accept the challenge, you little 

The next spare half-holiday the match 
came off under the usual telegraphic condi- 
tions. Blake was an anxious spectator at the 
range while Pondersby and his house team 

shot off against 
the distant Manor 
House at Chelt- 
borough. Pon- 
dersby was in 
excellent form, 
and a total of 
four hundred and 
twenty - one was 
But at the 
five hun- 
dred yards Chelt- 
borough must 
have been shoot- 
ing like machine- 
guns, for they 
sent over a tele- 
graphic final of 
four hundred and 

Blake was the 
only one who was 
not depressed at 
the result. 


Pondersby rushed, raging, 

by Google 

A week later 
into the prep.- 
room and called out heatedly for Blake. A 
dozen willing fags hunted him up and brought 
him to Pondersby, together with a further 
crowd of house-mates anxious to see the fun. 

" What's all this foolery ? " shouted 
Pondersby, angrily, flourishing in his hand a 
just-published copy of the school magazine. 
" Look here at this rotten, trying-to-be- funny 
account of our shooting match with Chelt- 
borough ! " And he thrust the paper before 
Blake's nose. 

"Well, I advised you not to accept the 
challenge. You know that ! " replied Blake. 

" Yes ; but they're saying here that I 
induced the house to shoot against a team of 
girls ! Girls ! ! " 

" Well, so you did," replied Blake, calmly. 
"There's a Cheltborough girls' college as 
well as a boys'. Surely you know that ? " 

" Why the deuce didn't you tell me so? 
This notice — it's written up by that sarcastic 
little scug Ironsides, I'll bet — will just make 
me the laughing-stock of the school. You 
told me the challenge was from your cousin, 
Francis Blake." 

" I didn't tell you anything of the kind. 
If you like to read ' Frances ' as ' Francis/ 




that isn't my fault If it's going to make you 
the laughing' stock of the schoolj it serves 
you bally well right for being such a short- 
sighted ass/' 

Pondersby was almost inarticulate from 
rage, u It's you that's let me in for this ! 
I'll wring your neck off ! " 

(i And while you're about it," retorted 

Blake, valiantly, il you may as well wring 
my neck off for putting Ironsides up 
to the game. Who's the petticoat smug 

Pondersby made a dive for Blake. But 
neatly tripping him up with an outstretched 
foot, Blake made for the door and the wide 
spaces of the playing-fields. 


HE group of house-masters in 
the Head's study were silent 
with a disapproving silence 
that almost reverberated 
round the room. The Head 
had made his bombshell pro- 
nouncement, and it obviously 
found no favour with his colleagues, But he 
prided himself on being a man of masterful 
decision ; and it was in cold, polished, fait 
accompli tones that he proceeded* to force 
his plan upon them, 

'Well, gentlemen, what 
have you to say against 
my idea? On every 


by Google 

ground — physical, moral, hygienic — it will be 
to the advantage of the boys and the school 
in general I can see no valid objection to 
it Mr. Goldsworthy, I should be glad to 
hear your opinion* n ' 

The man addressed — the senior house- 
master, twenty years older than his chief, and 
very wise in the ways of boys — shook his grey 
head slowly and replied : u I think, Doctor, 
that it would certainly be prudent to sound 
the feeling of the school on the matter. We 
could broach the idea in a 
tentative manner to the head 
prefects in each house, and 
prepare the ground for a 
school order later on. That 
would be more discreet " 

The Head was a man of 
social and literary ambitions, 
and in furtherance of these 
he cultivated the epigram- 
matic style of utterance. 
Automatically, then, he made 
reply : u Decision, Mr. Golds- 
worthy, is always the better 
part of discretion." 

"It would also interfere 
with our own personal com- 
fort," mentioned Mr. Golds- 
worthy ; and there was an 
approving look from the 
other masters. 

"It will affect me equally 
with yourselves," retorted the 
Head, with finality; "but 
that is not the important point. What we 
have to look to is the example we shall be 
setting to every other public school in 
England* In reform, as in all other respects, 
we must lead !" 

Round the school notice-board the next 
morning gathered a crowd of boys who 
pushed and jostled one another for a first- 
hand reading of the momentous notice in 
the Doctor's handwriting: — 

Beginning with to- morrow % all school docks 

Original from 



will be advanced one hour ahead of tmvn time 
during the summer term The usual time- 
table will be adfured to. 

There were mutterings and open protests 
from big boys and small boys alike. Had the 
decree been in the direction of a fifty per 
cent, income-tax on pocket-money, it could 
not have made a more unfavourable impres- 
sion. Rogers, a young house prefect of 
North Close, summed up the general feeling 
when he said . — 

44 Does the Head imagine himself a bally 
tin pot Providence to go interfering with our 
watches like that? Greenwich time's been 
good enough for the school ever since Henry 
VIII. founded it, and what was good enough 
for Henry VIII. is good enough for the 
Head, isn't it?" 

44 But ivere there watches in Henry VIII.'s 
day?'' asked Tomlinson, a boy with an 
unnaturally judicial turn of mind. 

44 Of course there were, you baked owl," 
replied Rogers. u Whatever do you think 
the night watchmen carried round with 
them, eh ? This idea of old Razor-Edge's 
is so perfectly putrid that they'd jeer at 
it in a lunatic asylum. When the time 
is really 5 30 those lying clocks will be 
calling it 6.30, and we shall have to turn 
out for early morning prep, while all the 
cows and pigs are comfortably in bed and 

"There's something to be said forgetting 
up earlier and having more daylight," added 
Tomlinson, judicially ; " but really we can't 
allow him to dictate to us how we're to set 
our own watches." 

44 I've got a magnificent idea !" said Rogers, 
emphatically, slapping Tomlinson on the back 
to underline the word "magnificent." " I'm 
going to start a Greenwich League! Who'll 
join ? A shilling entrance fee, and we'll hold 
ice cream conferences in my study ! " 

When a prefect gives a bold lead of this 
kind humbler members of a school are not 
slow to follow. The league thrived amazingly, 
with branches in every house, and a central 
executive committee, presided over by 
Rogers as Perpetual Grand Keeper of the 
Sacred Clock. 

A sudden wave of revolt spread through- 
out the school. It sprang up like one of 
Mr. Wells's mushrooms on the moon, as is 
the manner of school crazesr Everywhere 
were secret whisperings and plottings, and in 
the class rooms organized opposition showed 

Half-way through the second lesson, for 

by t^ 



instance, Mr. Geikie found his Middle Fifth 
dropping off to sleep. Mr. Geikie, thoroughly 
capable in every other respect, and a 
sportsman of note, was handicapped as a 
disciplinarian by an indigestive redness of 
nose which was a source of constant concern 
to his boys. 

44 Rogers," said he, " construe from line 

44 Sorry, sir," said Rogers, affecting to start 
out of sleep, and speaking with schoolroom 
correctness of language, " but it's so difficult 
for me to keep awake when I have to get up 
so early in the morning. Don't you find it 
the same yourself, sir ? " 

" Begin where I told you," replied Mr. 
Geikie, sharply. 

" You said line thirty-eight, didn't you, 
sir ? " 

44 Line fifty-eight." 

44 Very well, sir." Slowly Rogers found his 
place, then began to construe in a drawling 
monotone that presently died away altogether. 
He was standing upright with eyes closed, 
and his head nodded down to his chest in a 
most finished simulation of slumber. The 
whole class smiled, audibly. 

44 Rogers !■" said Mr. Geikie, with an anger 
that he strove to control. 44 1 am always 
reluctant to punish a prefect, but " 

44 I'm very sorry indeed, sir," interrupted 
Rogers, 44 but really it's very difficult for me 
to keep awake. 1 think it must come from 
having the clocks put forward as they are 
now. It isn't natural, is it, sir?" 

In other class-rooms similar scenes were 
taking place ; and the official answer to the 
general revolt was made on the school board 
the next morning, where it was announced 
by the Head that, until further notice, there 
would be only two half -holidays a week 
instead of three for the whole school. A 
further notice stated that Rogers, P.H., of 
North Close, was no longer a prefect. m 

So far from repressing the mutiny, the 
Head's punitive measures only fed the flame 
of opposition. Nothing incenses the school- 
boy more than a general punishment. 

Rogers blossomed out into a martyr to the 
cause. By general consent he was endowed 
with a halo. 

If he could have accepted all the offers of 
treats at the tuck shop, it would have needed 
a pantechnicon to cart away the crumbs. 

But his popularity did not last long. 
Within a fortnight Rogers's domination was 
crumbling away. The boys were owning 
to their secret selves that the extra daylight 

Original from 



'5 E 

gained was distinctly agreeable. Yet they 
were not going to submit lamely to a Head 
who had punished the whole school in such 
high-handed fashion, The league continued 
its work, and the culmination of its efforts 
came on mid term Founders' Day, when the 
Governors of the school, the Right Worship- 
ful Company of Drysalters, came down from 
London to hear sundry speeches from 
masters and boys assembled in Big School 

In accordance with ancient custom, the 
(iovernors put up overnight at "The 
George," and in the early morning the boys 
came to serenade them outside the hotel 
Bat instead of the old-world song that had 
greeted the Governors of the school for 
hundreds of years, a 
strange new chant 
floated up to their 
windows. It went to 
the tune of "John 
Brown's body lies 
a- mouldering in his 
grave," and the words 
seemed to be : — 

If you* re a- waking* call me 

early, mother dear, 
1 1- you're a- waking, call me 

early, mother dear, 
IF you're a- waking, call me 
early, mother dear. 
For ihe clocks have all 
gone wrong ! 

In surprise the 
venerable Drysakers 
appeared at their re- 
spective windows, but 
this was no hostile 
demonstration. They 
were greeted with the 
heartiest of schoolboy 
cheers — the chant was 
merely intended to 
bring the burning ques- 
tion of the day to the 
Cover nors ' consi d era- 

In Big School again, 
when the Grand Master 
of the Drysaltery trot- 
ted out the hoary old 
platitudes that had 
done yeoman service 
before he had left his 

cradle, the applause was spontaneous and 
hearty, but altogether different was the case 
when the Head rose to make fus speech. 

Except from the visitors, hardly a il hand " 
greeted him. The atmosphere of the 
assembly had suddenly fallen to twenty 


by L^OOgle 

below zero. The air was electric with the 
Arctic Aurora, 

The Head's shoulders stiffened; his jaw 
set firmer , his tones were even more 
chiselled and polished than customary 

But before ten minutes had passed boys' 
heads were drooping wearily — here, there, all 
over the hall — like wilted flowerets The 
fatigue of early rising was apparently too 
much for them. Then came to the ears of 
the Head and the Drysalters on the plat 
form a gentle sound like unto the hum 
of bees amongst the flowers on a drowsy 
Sunday afternoon in midsummer, when the 
church chimes from the town float lazily 
through the placid atmosphere. The sound 
was all that was gentle, 
all that was unobtru- 
sive* all that was refined 
and well bred — but it 
was unmistakably the 
sound of sleep settling 
down amongst the 

The Governors 
looked aniasedly at 
the Head ; the Head 
felt their looks piercing 
through the nape of 
his neck. 

There was only one 
man or boy in all that 
assembly who held the 
power to bring the 
school back from its 
lapse of manners. That 
was the captain of the 
eleven. Had he chosen 
to turn round in a 
particular way, Mor- 
pheus would have 

The Head fixed him 
with his eye. There 
was unmistakable com- 
mand in his look. 

The captain of the 
eleven caught the look, 
But he was suffering 
under a sense of injury 
in regard to that extra 
half - holiday taken 
away, which affected 
him equally with the rest uf the school. So 
he gazed coldly ahead at the gold suspension 
bridge that spanned from pocket to pocket 
across the portly waistcoat of a Deputy- 
Grand Master of the Drysalters. 
The slumber-song continued. 
Original from 






I .ate that evening the Head was closeted 
in his study with the senior house-master. 

"Mr. Goldsworthy," said the Head, " I 
cannot disguise from myself that the dis- 
cipline in the various houses Is not all that it 
should be/' 

"Well, Doctor/' returned the senior house- 
master* with spirit, " we all think that it 
would have been more discreet to have intro- 
duced the new daylight-saving scheme a little 
more delicately." 

" That is a fait accompli ! " replied the 
Head, sharply— his nerves were on edge* 
" It is a reform of undoubted benefit to the 
boys, and an example to every other public 

II I have been here, boy and man, for forty 
years," continued Mr, Goldsworthy, "and I 
know how strong are the prejudices, how 
intense the conservatism of the boys* You 
say, Doctor, that the daylight-saving scheme 
must continue in force, but if you will allow 
me to suggest a little concession to popular 
feeling — a via media^l know from my long 
experience that it will prove a way out of the 

"I* am listening," replied the Head. 

Round the school notice-board the next 
morning pushed and josiled a crowd of hoys. 

As Rogers 

at last ! I 
be such an 
tries to make himself 
dissolve the league 
to bet six 
we get the 
week. Any 

the Head's 
different to 

by Google 

It was a notice in the Doctor's handwriting 
that they sought to read, and the general 
approval of it was manifest, 
said : — 

"The Head's talking sense 
always knew that he couldn't 
utter lunatic as he 
out. Now we can 
and call £ Pax.' Frn ready 
strawberry mushes to one that 
third half-holiday back within a 
takers ? " 

" I really don't see that 
notice makes the matter any 
what it was before," commented the judicial 

" If you can't see the difference you must 
be as blind as a brickbat," retorted Rogers. 
" There's all the difference in the world 
between his first daylight saving notice and 
this one." And he read out the announce- 
ment slowly and underline dly for To ml in son's 
benefit : — 

Beginning with to-morrow \ the scliool clocks 
will revert to town time, On the other kand^ 
the school time-table will be put back one hour, 
so that early morning preparation begins at 
six instead of seven % etc, 

" Can't you see the difference now, you 
baked owl ? " added Rogers, scornfully. 

Original from 




OMPARE the orbits of mighty 
Neptune and of the most insig- 
nificant asteroid in the solar 
system, and you have some 
conception of the relative 
parts in the world of North 
Close played by Pondersby 
and by little Milliken. The latter was a 
small boy of a meekness and a mildness 
unparalleled in the history of the house, 

11 If there is one thing that would make 
me die happy," said Mr. Calthrop to his 
head prefect, " it would be to hear that 
Milliken had been run in for assaulting the 
police ! " 

But Milliken had never once earned fifty 
lines ** poena/' had never once been late for 
call-over, had never even been rebuked for 
whispering in class room or prep. -room. He 
was a perfect model of docile obedience to 
regulations. Also he worshipped Pondersby 
from afar off as a mighty demigod ; though 
Pondersby knew it not, nor would have been 
moved a jot had he known of it. 

The feud between Pondersby and Fisher 
was really the fault of the former. Fisher was 
a young hull-pup, a pet of the house-master's, 
just finding his feet as a healthy young animal 
with a healthy young appetite. And Pon- 
dersby imposed on his ignorance of the world 
in a perfectly shameful manner- 
It was at dinner in the house dining room* 
Pondersby whistled him up: il Here, Fisher; 
food doggie ! n and threw into his expectant 
open mouth a chunk of bread that had been 
hollowed out and filled with mustard. 

Fisher's tail wagged gratefully and his 
teeth closed on the morsel ; then he 
rejected it hastily and fled howling from 
the room to seek a water-trough, 

The brilliancy of this idea so appealed 
to Pondersby's sense of humour that he 
published a second edition of the joke 
the next day, and this time it was a piece 
of tasty meat that concealed 
the dose of mustard, 

Fisher's tail wagged trust- 
fully, and his teeth closed 
on the savoury morsel 
Again it was nastily re- 
jected, but this time he 
neither howled nor fled 
from his false friend ; he 
made for Pondersby and 
fastened his teeth in his calf. 
Vol. ,11-20- 

Then there was a grand commotion, a 
fine kicking and struggling, and the game 
little dog was finally choked off and deposited 
outside the door by the head prefect. 

" Serves you right, Pondersby ! " said the 
prefect. " Fisher's tame enough if you leave 
him alone. 1 ' 

"Vicious little brute!" returned Pondersby, 
feeling his torn trousers and his lacerated 
calf. "Can't he take a joke? Anyhow, Y\\ 
get even with him ! " 

Pondersby had lately been introduced to 
the fascinating study of practical chemistry, 
and one of the first things he had learnt — 
not from the science master, to be sure— was 
the preparation of , , . let us be discreet 
and label it " nitride," This is an explosive 
to delight the schoolboy heart. It is very 
easily made, and when moist it is quite 
harmless, Dried, however, it will "go off J1 
on the slightest provocation — if one tickles it 
with a feather, if one smiles at it hard, and 
certainly if one treads on it. 

So Pondersby, the inventive genius, in 

'™ HER '™ r ^rtaffill¥f«i'-h 




secret prepared a quantum suff. of the moist 
black powder, and spread it generously on 
the cobble-stones around Fisher's kennel in 
the yard. From the window of the prep.- 
room Pondersby and his following watched 
for developments. At a respectful distance 
from his demi-god, Milliken also watched. 

Quickly the 
"nitride" dried on 
the cobbles, and 
Fisher was 
whistled up from 
an afternoon nap. 
He came good- 
naturedly to the 
edge of his kennel, 
lazily stretched 
himself and 
wagged his tail, 
then sauntered 
out on to the 
yard. Bang ! 
Bang! Bang! went 
off the " nitride " 
under his paws. 
In surprise and 
anger he jumped 
on to another part 
of the cobbles. 
Bang! Bang! 
Bang ! went the 
explosive under 
him. Fisher bris- 
tled like a wolf, 
then darted 
straight off to the 
prep. -room, and 
made for the boy whom he felt at the back 
of his doggy mind had planned this outrage 
on him. 

Pondersby jumped for a prep. -table. Fisher 
jumped after him, and Pondersby hastily 
leapt for a beam and caught it, remaining 
suspended above the growling bull-pup, but 
not quite out of reach. 

Milliken had a sudden access of spirit that 
no one would have credited him with. He 
pluckily moved forward a step towards the 
dog, with the idea of distracting its attention 
from the demigod, but at that moment Mr. 
Calthrop appeared in the doorway. 

" What's the matter, Pondersby ? " asked 
the house-master, in surprise. 

" It's Fisher, sir. He seems to have taken 
a dislike to me, I don't know why. He's 
really getting quite dangerous, sir ! " 

Mr. Calthrop called off his pet. " I'll have 
his kennel moved away at once from your 
yard," he said. 


by LiOOglC 

In the dormitory that night Pondersby was 
in a bravado mood. 

" I'm going to have asmoke on the roof!" 
said he. 

" Have you got some cigarettes, then ? " 
whispered several awed voices. 

* Not a single one," returned Pondersby. 

"Where are you 
going to get them 

"I'm going"— 
Pondersby paused 
for impressive ef- 
fect — " I'm going 
to bag some 
smokes from the 
study of our 
worthy house- 

u You'll never 
dare to do that ! " 
Pondersby. "Of 
course I dare. Ill 
wait till after 
eleven, when 
everything's quiet, 
and then I'll go 
and bag them. 
Old Beefy's got 
a fine taste in 
smokes, and I 
daresay they'll 
suit me." 

When the 
whole house was 
wrapped in 
slumber Pondersby stole out in pyjamas and 
slippered feet and made his way along the 
passages to Mr. Calthrop's study. There was 
no light appearing under the door, no sound 
came from the room, and Pondersby turned 
the handle by fractional degrees. 

Moonlight shone on the desk in the house- 
master's study. A quantity of papers were 
strewn on it ; there was an ash-tray with 
matches ; there were a box of cigarettes and 
a box of cigars. Pondersby opened them 
quickly, extracted a couple of cigars and 
a few cigarettes, and made to leave. A low 
growl from a dark corner of the room sent his 
nerves jumping. There came a sudden leap 
out of the darkness, and Fisher had fastened 
his teeth on the lower garment of his enemy. 
Pondersby struggled outside the door 
and down the passage with Fisher hanging 
doggedly on behind— then with a sudden 
inspiration he slipped off his lower garment 
and fled for his dormitory. 

j i 1 1 ■_* 1 1 1 




After breakfast Mr. 
Calthrop called his 
house together in the 
prep*-room. He was 
stern and ominously 
quiet in tone. The 
house were proportion- 
ately awed, 

41 1 found a pyjama 
trousers belonging to 
one of you boys in 
my study this morn- 
ing, Whose is it?" 

" It must be mine, 
sir!" replied Pon- 
dersby, jumping up 
with calculated alac- 
rity M Fisher stole it 
from me ! " 

"Stole it from you?" 

*'Yes, sir T when I 
was going down the 
passage last night by 
the bathroom. I think 
he must have taken a 
dislike to me. He 
stole it from me and 
took it into your 
study. I didn't like 
to follow him and 
take it away without 
your permission, sir." 

Mr, Calthrop looked 
at him, searchingly. 
lk I Js;? found a couple 
of cigarettes on the 
fioor of my study," he 
pursued, after a short 

11 Does he like to 
chew cigarettes, sir, 
do you think ? He 
seems to like chew- 
ing things, 11 said Pondersby, as a desperate 

Mr + Calthrop ignored the question, " There 
are also some cigars missing from my box/' 
he continued, relentlessly. 

" Please, sir, I took them !" piped a shrill 
voice from the back of the room. Everyone 
turned in astonishment, It was little Milliken 
on his feet — the meek and mild, docile little 


model of good be- 
haviour. The boys 
tittered at the ridicu- 
lous idea, then laughed 
openly, then endea- 
voured to choke down 
their merriment. 

" Please, sir, I took 
them I" repeated little 
Milliken. M You said, 
sir, that you wanted 
me to do something 
desperate, so I went 
and took your cigars!" 

Mr. Calthrop was 
cursed, as a school- 
master, with a strong 
sense of humour. His 
mouth twitched, much 
as he strove to con 
trol it, as he asked, 
M And did you take 
them to smoke or to 
eat ? " 

(t To smoke, sir. 
I smoked them on 
the roof last night," 
answered little Milli- 
ken, valiantly. 

" All three ? " 

"Yes sir, all three." 

11 Well, Milliken, 
you're evidently a very- 
dangerous character," 
said Mr + Calthrop, 
rising to go. "You 
will stay in this after- 
noon and to-morrow 
afternoon and write out 
five hundred Creek 

"Couldn't you make 
it Latin, sir — I don't 
know Greek?' asked little Milliken, 

Hut Mr. Calthrop strode away without 

Though Milliken handed in the five hundred 
Greek lines, it was Pondersby, needless to 
say, who had written them out And Mr. 
Calthrop made no comment on the obviously 
experienced handwriting. 

by Google 

Original from 

In a Biograph Theatre. 

Humour, Pathos, ana Sensation on the Film. 


Frrjin a Ftatocmip4 bg\ 


ttffti. -V«Ti«i Ltd. 

S you sit in an electric theatre 
watching the pictures on the 

screen, sometimes moved to 
tears by a sympathetic scene, 
sometimes to laughter by a 
humorous one, you have no 
time to wonder how these 
effects are brought about Rut when you 
leave the building you may feel that you 
would like to know how it is all done. 

In the first place, the actors and actresses 
who perform the piece before ihe camera in 
order to obtain the film are, many of them, 
well-known people on the music-hall or 
regular stage. So great is the demand 
for films that special buildings have been 
built in order that pictures may be taken 
indoors as well as in the open air. One 
of the finest of these, belonging to the 
Hep worth Manufacturing Company, is 
situated at Walton, It has twenty arc 
lamps, each producing a light of six thousand 
candle-power, so that when they art; all 
alight no less than one hundred and 
twenty thousand candle - power of light is 
produced, permitting an indoor scene to 

Digitized by G( 

be photographed. The company em- 
ploys a complete staff of scene -painters, 
carpenters, and scene shifters. No expense 
is spared to make the pictures as realistic 
as possible, and the setting in some of 
them costs several hundred pounds. The 
expenditure on a single film sometimes 
amounts to nearly a thousand pounds. 
But the cost of an ordinary comic picture 
is much lower than this — say, on an average, 
a hundred pounds. Very large salaries are 
paid to certain artistes who have become 
public favourites. It has been stated that a 
certain actress in America has received over 
two thousand pounds a year for acting for 
film-pictures of this kind. 

The first thing, of course, is to obtain a 
really good plot. After this has been secured 
it is divided into different scenes, and it is 
no uncommon thing for an ordinary comic 
film to be divided into fifteen or twenty 
scenes. The sta^r* manager then calls the 
company together, explains the plot to them 
fully, and allots the different parts. Afrer 
each has "made up" to represent his or 
her character the commny starts rehearsing. 




The mind of every artiste must be concentra- 
ted on his work. He must know the time 
he has to come into the picture to the very 
ins tan t t fur as the operator is taking photo- 
graphs at the rate of sixteen per second, 
it is easy to understand that the slightest 
mistake would ruin the whole picture. 

Imagine that the operator is waiting for the 
word to start. " Are you ready ? " he calls. 
"Go ! " The machine buzzes merrily round, 
the artistes act as if before a crowded house, 
while the stage-manager is shouting warnings 
and directions. When the taking of the first 
scene is complete the scene-shifters are busy 
preparing for the next scene, So the work 
goes on until all the scenes are finished. It 
may be several days before the whole film is 

The length of the films varies, but one of 
a thousand feet, which is considered a full 
length, contains no fewer than sixteen thou- 
sand separate pictures and takes about an 
hour and three-quarters to develop. The 
time taken to display this picture on the 
screen is nearly twenty minutes. 

So much for indoor work, But many 
scenes are taken in the open air The 
artistes who devote their time to this kind 
of work are more liable to serious acci- 
dents than those who work in the more 
tranquil atmosphere of the theatre. An 
accident that happened in Surrey is 
probably still fresh 
in the public 
mind. A man was 
tied to the railway 
lines, and it was 
arranged that a 
train should ap- 
proach as near to 
him as possible, 
when he was to 
have been rescued 
just in the nick of 
time. Owing, how- 
ever, to the greasy- 
state of the metals, 
the train was un- 
able to stop dead, 
and the engine 
passed over the 
unfortunate per- 
former, Fortu 
nately, this kind 
of accident very 
seldom ha p- 

A not her case that 
might have had 

an unhappy ending was that of a young lady 
who was depicted as being thrown into the 
water by the villain of the piece and then 
rescued by the hero from a watery grave* 
The impression svas that she could swim, 
but when she was immersed the opera- 
tors soon found out their mistake, for £0 
their consternation it was some time before 
she reappeared, half-drowned and scarcely 
conscious, on the surface. Happily she was 
soon rescued, and quickly recovered. 

Only a short time ago a scene from the 
French Revolution was being acted. A 
guillotine had been erected by the roadside, 
and a howling mob had assembled about it. 
The mimic execution was going on in the 
most lifelike manner. The dramatic moment 
had arrived ; the condemned man, with the 
priest beside him, stood under the glittering 
knife ; ihe savage-faced mob waved its arms 
in fierce exultation — when a touring car 
swept round a curve in the road. Some 
ladies in the car, finding themselves face to 
face with this extremely realistic picture, 
broke into piercing screams, while the startled 
chauffeur brought his machine to a stop, 
The disturbance was too much for the actors, 
and the condemned man, the priest, and the 
mob turned to see what was the matter. 
The motorists soon found out the situation 
and sped away, but the film was ruined. 

On another occasion a picture was just 


HUMOUR — "the advf.ntURks of foolshbAD." 

I. FOOI.SHEAD IS THROWN IQfiQ j fttf iftglfo- CHUTE, 






about to be started a little way out of 
London, when along came a very pompous 
old gentleman who wanted to pass. 

" Kxcuse me, sir," said one of the com- 
pany, " but you can't go through now/* 

" Can't go through? Why not, indeed?" 
thundered the old gentleman. 

** Because we are just going to start," 
replied the actor, 

** Oh, really 1 ,J ' snapped the old man. (i Oh, 
really ! I'm a ratepayer, and 
III see what this constable 
has to say on the subject." 
He walked up to a near-by 
constable and demanded the 
meaning of it all. 

" Can't 'elp it, sir," said the 
constable, stolidly, barring the 
way as he spoke. "These 
people have bought the road 
for, a time, and you can't pass," 

And he didn't pass till they 
had finished, nor did he dis- 
cover that the constable was 
an actor ready for the part. 

We stated at the head of 
this article that we proposed 
to say something about the 
humour, the pathos, and the 
sensation of what has now be- 
come one of the most popular 
of all entertainments. I-et 
us, in the first place, con 
sider the subject of humour. 

It will be readily 
understood that 
where the whole 
play consists of 
action without 
words anything like 
subtlety of wit is 
out of the ques- 
tion. The effects 
must be of the 
broadest possible 
kind, bordering on 
horse-play. It has 
been said that in 
the theatre the 
most sparkling epi- 
gram is less effec- 
tive in arousing 
laughter than the 
spectacle of a man 
sitting down on his 
hat — and this is 
entirely the kind of 
humour on which 
the biograph 
theatre has to depend for its effect 

Perhaps the most popular series of films of 
tliis nature are those which are known as 
"The Adventures of Foolsbead," in which a 
j>erson whose character is well conveyed by 
his name goes through a series of most 
astonishing adventures and comes to grief 
in a score of different ways* 

Foolshead is an assistant in a large store, 
and is so enamoured of the pretty daughter 

W l i I L K S E L EC I 1 -M r A I Y K fc. 
[} tola Film. 

by Google 


Original from 

( An fa- Aim. 




of the proprietor that he neglects his duties. 
He is so preoccupied that he knocks over a 
lady customer with a roll of cloth, and when she 
buys it wraps it up so badly that she complains 
to the proprietor. The latter finds Foolshead 
talking to his daughter, and angrily throws 
him out of the shop with such force that 
he is carried across the road through the 
chute for parcels in the basement, where he 
lands oti a pile of hat-boxes, as shown 
in the first of our pictures selected from 
this film. Recovering his senses, Pools- 
head laboriously climbs up the chute to the 
shop, when, seeing the proprietor coming 
into view with a party of customers, he hides 
behind a pile of lurniture and carpets, which, 
by an unlucky movement, he precipitates 
upon the party. He next gets behind a. big 
stall of plaster statuettes, and the crash 
here, as the others appear, is greater than 
ever. Finally Foolshead opens the dour ol 
a large cupboard, into which the pursuers 
rush, whereupon the door is slammed to, and 
he and his sweetheart sit on the overturned 
cupboard and parley wkh the father until his 
consent is given to an early marriage, 

His adventures, however, are by no means 
at an end, and another picture shows the greal 
little comedian as a chauffeur, whose car 
breaks down in a busy thoroughfare- Water 
being required for cooling purposes, he obtains 
a supply, but in a leaky watering-can. Petrol 
is next required, which he obtains in his usual 
hurry, knocking two policemen into a tank 
in the process. The petrol is no sooner in 
the tank than a tyre bursts. He now goes 

Digitized by GoOgJC 

off in an 
hurry for 
a tyre, up- 
setting, in 
the way 
shown in 
graph re- 
on the 
page, the 
f the 
shop be- 
fore l>eing 
suited. On 
his way 
back he 
meets a 

They celebrate the occasion, and when Fools- 
head returns — of course, without the tyre — 
the car is blazing furiously. 

As might be expected, the modern sport 
of roller skating offers Foolshead an excep- 
tional opportunity for the exercise of his 
unique gifts. It is his weakness for the fair 
se\ which leads him into trouble. Meeting 


■HI-. \ I ■■ PKOGKfiSSfcS IiGUN 1HI-. Mkkl I IN 





IJLL \.\\>\ kll.KhK IS VANQUISHED \\ 

a lady in the street, nothing will satisfy him 
but that they should fto nuking together. 
Foolshead signalizes his entry by bowling 
over a couple of rinkers, and then, seeing his 
lady friend skating towards the refreshment 
mom with another cavalier, he gives chase. 
In an outer room he keeps his feet with 
difficulty bv clinging to the curtains at the 
doorway (see page 158), and then, venturing 
away from their support, saves himself 
by grasping the lon^ 
white beard of an elderly 
skater, whom he wheels 
round several times before 
bringing him to the floor 
with a crash. 

The lady and gentleman 
skate gracefully between 
the chairs and tables in 
the refreshment room, but 
Foolshead, following, brings 
furniture and diners down 
together, and leaves inextri- 
cable confusion before he 
again reaches the floor* 
This catastrophe is repre 
sented in the picture on 
page 159. This exhausts the 
patience of the manager, 
and Foolshead is thrown 
into the street He lands 
outside a house door, where 
stands one of the large 
wicker arrangements used 
by children learning to walk 
quickly. Creeping inside 

this, he progresses 
down the street 
in triumph, save 
for one tumble 
caused by unex- 
pectedly meeting 
his late fair com- 
panion and her 
new attendant. 

to another favour- 
ite of the bio- 
graph theatre, 
Max Under, who 
impersonates a 
youth supposed 
to be smitten with 
the charms of two 
damsels. Timidly, 
yet with a certain 
amount of deter- 
mination, he 
follows them 
through the streets, and all hints that his 
presence is not desirable are lost upon him. 
Annoyed at his presumption, the two girls 
resolve to make him pay for his audacity. 
With very little effort he is lured into a con- 
fectioner's shop and compelled to consume a 
quantity of unwholesome cakes as a penalty, 
A visit to the dentist follows, and before he 
is well aware of it he has lost a couple of 
good teeth. 

V A CluAKKJ 1 h. 

[Film by Paikf Mt** 

3 y Google 




iginal tram 

[Vitaffmph Cfr 



He is full of pluck, however, and continues 
the chase, with a handkerchief pressed to his 
face, and is soon inveigled into smoking 
some cigarettes which they press upon him. 
These, however, as another photograph shows, 
put the finishing stroke to his discomfort, and 
the young lady-killer is finally vanquished. 

The humorous side of the question has 
detained us so long that we have scarcely 
space to touch upon the pathetic and the 
sensational. However, of the former let 
us take as a typical example the film 
entitled "The Call of the 
Heart" It tells the story 
of a widowed mother, 
whoj finding herself near 
death, instructs her little 
daughter to trust God 
and seek a shelter where 
Fie may direct her. She 
pins a note to the little 
one's dress, telling of her 
mother's death, and soon 
ifter the child has left 
the mother dies. By 
some strange disposition 
of Fate the child is led 
to the comfortahle home 
of a hard-fisted old miser 
who thinks of no one but 
himself. The little girl 
is cared for by the 
housekeeper and taken to 
the old man, who has just 
awakened from a dream, 
in which his conscience 
has been aroused. He 
realises his hard hearted 
meanness, having been 
brought by his dream to 
an appreciation of the 
blessings of charity. When 
he sees the little orphan 
and the note she has 
brought with her, the old 
fellow cannot resist her 
winning ways. He takes her to his heart 
and home, and becomes as a child himself 

Now, finally for a sensational scene, of 
which as good an example as any is 
that entitled [1 The Power of the Press;" 
Bill Mawson, mayor of a small American 
town, is on bad terms with a local editor, 
whom he has succeeded in driving out of 
the town. John Marsden, the new editor, 
arrives, and Mawson attempts to make him 

his tool On Marsden refusing, the mayor 
starts a conspiracy to get rid of him, but his 
niece, Nettie, overhears the plot and warns 
Marsden, He refuses to fly, and is soon 
afterwards "held up" by some masked men, 
among whom he recognizes Bill Mawson, 
the mayor. They drag him to a tree 
and put a rope round his neck, as shown 
in our last picture, but he still refuses 
to obey the mayor* Everything is ready, 
when Nettie dashes up with the police and 
rescues her lover from death. Marsden takes 



I Vitoffmpk Co, 

Nettie in his arms and graciously intervenes 
for the release of Mawson, who extends his 
hand and promises to mend his ways. 

Such, then, is the quality of the fare provided 
by the biograph theatre, and if it is true that 
it does not appeal essentially to the il superior 
person," but to an infinitely wider public, 
there is no reason why it should be regarded 
as any the worse for that. 


by Google 

Original from 

A Horoscope 


Illustrated ty Duclley Hardy, R.I. 


->; — si* 



OR DON was my godson, and 
twenty-two. It was true that 
I had gone to Zurich entirely 
on his account, but for all that 
he took too much upon him- 
self; and I was obliged to tell 
him so more than once. 
44 You see too much of Hotschki-Potschki," 
was the kind of thing he sometimes said to 
me. Hotschki-Potschki was the ridiculous 
nickname he had bestowed upon my charm- 
ing Russian pupil, Mr. Schlopolski. 

" Well, I have to speak to someone when 
you aren't there," I protested, meekly. 

"But it needn't be a Russian bear. It 
makes me think of the Black Hundred only 
to look at him. 1 say, Madge, I wish you 
would have a nice girl out from England to 
knock about with and take care of you when 
I'm not there. A nice, sensible, sporting, 
good-natured sort of English girl — what ? " 
11 1 thought you hated girls, Gordon." 
" I don't always think of myself ! " he said, 

44 Your mother is my dearest friend, and 
I've faithfully promised her that there shall 
be no entanglements while you're out here. 
You're quite safe with these dumpy dowdy 
Swiss girls, but with a nice sporting girl from 

home you said sporting, didn't you?" 

44 Do you think I want to surround you 
with a barrier of the kind I most dislike?" 
he asked, reproachfully. "You know my 
opinion of girls. They make me tired. I'm 
not a selfish beast. You must be getting 
bored if you are driven to amuse yourself 
with a Russian Anarchist." 

44 If he is an Anarchist," I murmured, 
gently. 44 He can hardly be one of the 
Black Hundred, can he?" 

But I gave in. Of course I gave in. It 
was Mrs. Plumleigh who had suggested it, 
and Gordon thought I ought to listen to 
Mrs. IMumleighs advice— chiefly, I think, 
because she was so handsome, that it was sure 
to be excellent. He didn't say that that was 
the reason, but I am not a fool. Perhaps 



they were both right I dare say I am a little 
bored sometimes. Gordon was always a 
dear boy, and kindness itself, and he never 
forgot to tell me how sweet it was of me to 
come to Zurich entirely on his account. If it 
would make his mind easier to think that a 
bright, companionable girl would help to 
pass the time more quickly between his 
visits, I supposed I should have to get 
one. He was at the Escherwyss engineering 
works over at Oerlingen, and, although he 
came up to the pension as often as he could, 
there were many longish and weary ish in- 
tervals, and it would be sure to be much 
worse when Mrs. Plumleigh, who does amuse 
me, goes to Montreal next week. 

44 If she knows of this nice girl at home," 
Gordon went on, 44 why not have her out on 
trial ? W hat's her name ? " 

44 Muriel," said I, slowly. I watched his 
face narrowly, for the drawback seemed to 
me a serious one. 

44 Oh, Madge ! " Gordon called his god- 
mother Madge because he didn't find her 
old enough for a more respectful title. She 
was not, in fact, as old as she might be. For 
a widow she was particularly youthful. 

44 They call her Pansy at home. She 
prefers it." 

44 Oh, I say— she's not like that?" 

44 As far as I can make out she is exactly 
like that." 

44 Why does Mrs. Plumleigh want you to 
have her, then ? " he asked in some surprise, 
for he had the highest opinion of Mrs. Plum- 
leigh's powers of discrimination, chiefly, I 
imagine, because of the distracting way her 
hair curled over her ears. 44 What does Mrs. 
Plumleigh say about her, Madge?" 

44 She says she is just a sweet girl." 

44 Good Lord!" 

I laughed at the horror in his voice, for it 
was a flattering reflection of my own. 

44 Well, she seems to have her points, too. 

She won't want any salary. She is anxious 

to see something of the world, and will 

gladly give her services in return for her 

Original from 




keep and a little kindness and a few francs 
for pocket-money. Her father is a doctor in 
a poor district. She is amiable and obliging 
.and fond of music." 

" Oh, well " He rose to go. " I'm glad 

you're going to have a companion." 

•* She's coming out on Wednesday. She's 
coming the cheap way by Harwich and 
Antwerp. I think I shall meet her in Basle. 

It will be only kind " 

And that, you see, was the beginning of 

it. I knew her directly she got out of the 

train, by the forget-me-nots in her hat. She 

was the kind of girl who always wore blue 

serge and forget-me-nots. She had the 

usual kind of brown hair and a rather 

uncertain mouth, and she seemed sorry to 

find that I was not grey-haired and bugled. 

However, she had a very pretty laugh for 

my little jokes, and it is only fair to say 

that she began to be a comfort to me at 


She was a girl who seemed to delight in 

doing things for people — a girl, apparently, 

whose one wish was to be* liked. I had 

never been so spoilt in my life. She mended 

my clothes, and boiled the water for my 

morning cup of tea on the spirit lamp, and 

ran all my errands, and never, if she could 

help it, lost an opportunity of endearing 

herself to me. Gordon didn't take to 

her at all. He said he liked a woman to 

have something about her. He said Muriel 

wanted more devil. He said she was the 

kind of girl who'd be all over you if you gave 

her half a chance, and he strongly advised 

me to hold back a little. She was certainly 

the kind of girl who agreed with everybody. 

It might only mean, as Gordon said, that it 

was because she had no real opinions of her 

own. She didn't read aloud very well, but 

she was always most willing to try, and you 

can't have everything. 

All through August she was as good as 
gold, and little by little made herself indis- 
pensable to me. I was most grateful. I 
bought her an embroidered muslin and a 
long silver-gilt chain, and gave her ample 
pocket-money, for she was a lady's maid, 
secretary, messenger-boy, and companion all 
in one. 

Then one day, quite suddenly, she 
changed. First she gave up mending my 
clothes. The week after she let me make 
my own early tea. One by one she 
lost all her endearing ways, and became 
by ttirns sulky, haughty, aggressive, or 
absent. It was very unpleasant, and quite 

Digitized by Google 

" I might have known it was too good to 
last," said I, sadly. 

" Why not give her the push ? " Gordon 
advised, with his usual breezy frankness of 

"I'm hunting about for a possible reason 
for it all," said I, thoughtfully. 

" Perhaps she's in love. Goes down to 
breakfast alone, doesn't she? I'll bet my 
boots she's twining her young affections about 

" Mr. Schlopolski breakfasts at eight," said 
I, with dignity. " Muriel at nine." 

"Well, he'll clear off if she does take to 
him." Gordon spoke with conviction. " I 
should. Sort of thing a man cannot stand, 
and you can see that he isn't the kind of man 
to encourage any serious hopes/' 

"She looks quite pretty when her face 
lights up in the evening," said I, trying to be 
just, but at that moment the girl herself came 
in, gazed at us proudly and sorrowfully, and 
sailed out again in dignified silence. 

" Come in, Muriel," I cried, with some 
annoyance. " Why don't you come in ? " 

" I am the last person in the world to 
thrust myself in when I am not wanted, 
Mrs. Prendergast." 

" Of course," said I, soothingly ; " but we 
do want you." 

" Well, I'm off, anyhow." Gordon hastily 
rose. Muriel sat down on the edge of a 
chair and gazed into the distance till Gordon 
disappeared, and then she turned her 
scornful eyes full upon me. 

" Look here, Muriel," said I, quite kindly. 
" You'd better tell me all about it. I can see 
that you've got something serious on your 

" There's nothing to tell, Mrs. Prender- 
gast, thank you." 

" But you've utterly changed in the Jast 
few weeks, my dear. Indeed, you'd much 
better tell me all about it. Why are you so 
touch I mean, so unhappy now ? " 

" I try to bear my troubles with a smiling 
face, I hope." Muriel sniffed. 

" You have been extraordinarily unsuccess- 
ful then." I couldn't help a sharper edge to 
my voice. I had to speak candidly. Then 
I softened. " Why, I haven't seen your own 
pretty smile for weeks." 

She sniffed again and hunted for her hand- 

" I've been misunderstood from a child," 
said she, brokenly ; and I laughed a little at 
her tone. I really couldn't help it. 

" Why, so have we all," said I, lightly. 

She went on, mournfully : — 




" I have a most sensitive, reserved nature, 
and no one notices it" 

"Come, Muriel. Who's been trampling 
upon your sacred feelings ? " 

11 1 keep my sorrows to myself even if they 
eat into my heart and kill me. 1 ' 

* 4 But that's rather silly, isn t it ? I'm sure 
I could do something to help you if you'd 
only give me the chance, my dear," 

(i I must ask you to excuse me, Mrs. 
PrendergasL" She rose, but 1 caught her 

"Now, Muriel, 
I an i responsible 
for you to your 
father. I insist 
upon knowing 
what this is all 

41 I may lie led 
by kindness." 
Her voice broke. 
rt But I can never 
be driven* The 
stars say so, and 
the stars cannot 

"The stars!" 
I stared at her 
hopelessly, and 
then I realized 
that she was 
fumbling in her 
pocket for some- 
thing, and 1 
waited, helpless 
and aghast *She 
produced a sheet 
of f o o 1 s c a p 
covered with a 
la rge, scrawly 
handwriting and 
held it out to me, 

"Three weeks 
ago," said she, 
impressively, "I 
sent the date of 
my birth, the 
colour of my hair 
and eyes, and a 

specimen of my handwriting to Chiromio. 
He is wonderful. He cast my horoscope 
and told my character without one single 
mistake. And, oh, how I have been mis- 
understood !". 

I drew a deep breath of relief, but I dared 
not laugh now. 

"What is your character, Muriel?' 1 I 
asked, meekly. 


by Google 

11 Read it." She triumphantly held it out 
I took it very gingerly. 

" Your life has been overcast by a great 
shadow. You have been misunderstood by 
your nearest and dearest Your sensitive 
nature has been trampled upon, and your 
quick intelligence has been crushed- You 
are proud, reticent, self-sacrificing, courageous 
to a fault, high spirited, and do not easily 
brook reproof. It is necessary that you 
should assert yourself, and carve out your 

own career. Do 
not be misled by 
foolish conven- 
tions. Do not be 
influenced by ill- 
judged advisers 
whose mercenary 
motives may be 
mistaken for 
kindness. You 
are too noble and 
unselfish. Live 
your own life- 
Stand out for 
your rights. Do 
not discourage 
the dark gentle- 
man who admires 
you from afar, 
and always wear 
pink. — Chiro- 

"Upon ni y 
word ! " said I, 
but I handed the 
effusion back to 
her without 
further comment. 
It seemed to me 
too ridiculous to 

M Isn't it rnar- 
vellous?" she 

* Very, Oh, 
very marvellous." 
" You wouldn't 
have known it, 
would you ? " 
11 Never ! " said I, heartily. 
" You didn't know I was brave, did you ? " 
"Chiromio must have been up with 
Zeppelin m his dirigible the other day when 
you thought those oxen were going to eat 
you. I never heard such a scream.' 1 
Muriel flushed. 

" Who is the dark gentleman, Muriel?" I 
went on. " And how far off is he ? " 

Original from 



She disappeared without deigning a reply. 
Now, Schlopolski, my charming Russian, 
is dark, and the first faint misgiving was born 
there and then in my breast. He is a de- 
lightful pupil with engaging ways, but I have 
my doubts of his wild Slavonic principles. 
I must take care of the child while she was 
under my charge. I had no affection for the 
man myself. Gordon was wrong about that, 
although I encouraged the suspicion to tease 
him. She was quite welcome to him if he 
did regard her seriously, but I had my doubts 
about that. It was a great relief, however, 
to know the worst, and be able to put all 
Muriel's peculiarities down to that tiresome 
horoscope. When I explained about it to 
Gordon he was very sympathetic. 

44 1 should send her home, Madge," he 
said at once. " She's not normal The 
girl's wanting. I always thought it." 

u I don't know what to think. She was 
such a comfort. I shouldn't mind so much 
if I could forget how comfortable she made 
me at first." 

And there our conversation was obliged to 
stop, for Muriel came by th* open window, 
almost hidden in a gigantic hat full of pink 
roses. I had given her forty francs to spend, 
in a moment of expansion, vand it seemed 
that she had gone out and >pent it all on 
pink roses. She came intqT the salon for 
once with a smiling face, anf I was obliged 
to admit that for the mordent she really 
looked quite pretty, but Gordon examined 
her with solemn disapproval. ; 

" There was enough for a blouse, too," said 
Muriel, cheerfully. " Pink mercerised muslin 
with Valenciennes insertion. It's too sweet 
for words. Pink is certainly my colour." 

" I think it is," said Gordon, slowly. I 
smiled faintly, for I knew what a silly colour 
he always thought it, and I remembered a 
fight we had had about a certain rose-coloured 
chiffon parasol of mine. 

"You stick to pink," said he, with an 
immovable stare. "There's nothing like it." 
Muriel seemed quite pleased with his dis- 
crimination, and for the rest of the day 
behaved with her old amiability. Gordon 
stayed to supper at the pension, and Muriel 
wore a pink sash with her old white muslin 
frock, and a pink velvet fillet wound in and 
out of her Directoire curls, and every time 
Schlopolski looked at her she smiled. Little 
by little, as I watched her, it dawned upon 
me that this smile was meant for one of 

Gordon's suspicions of the Russian grew 
keener than ever, and he pointed out to me 

Digitized by GoOQle 

more than once that a girl doesn't get herself 
up in pink, morning, noon, and night, for 
nothing. I grew uneasy. 

" Hotschki-Potschki's certainly beginning 
to sit up and take notice," said Gordon, 
disgustedly, a few days later. " It's that 
infernal pink. Can't you make her stick to 

"I'm afraid to suggest it," cried I, in 
horror. " It's as much as my place is worth." 

I couldn't help wishing that that wretched 
astrologer of Muriel's had advised her to 
wear blue, for blue is a sane and healthy 
colour, and it steadies the nerves, I am sure. 
If there is any truth in the theory that 
colours influence the mind, the influence of 
pink must certainly be a silly, enfeebling 
one. It is so blatantly meretricious — pink. 
But one morning things went too far, and I 
was obliged to put my foot down. Xhe 
pale Muriel appeared at lunch with r$>ses 
blooming in both cheeks and a dus£ of 
powder on her little tip-tilted nose. 

" Pink," said I, sternly, " is very well in 
its place, Muriel ; but I prefer your face as 
God made it." 

Her lips trembled, her blue eyes filled 
with tears ; she was obviously deeply hurt. 
I caught an indignant glance from a pair of 
expressive Russian eyes across the room. 

" My dear," said I, in kindlier tones, 
" you've forgotten to wash your face. And 
you're quite pretty enough without it, too. 
Don't do it again." 

But Muriel set her lips, and rose to march 
out of the room with her head in the air. 
I sent her lunch up to her, knowing well that 
I should see no more of her for that .day, 
and two days afterwards I had to speaki vety 
seriously to her again about the stiidiad 
insolence of her manner. She was getting 

" You don't understand me " she said, 


"No," said I, gravely. "I wish I could. 
Is it all the fault of that silly horoscope ? 
Muriel, you don't mean to say that you really 
believe yourself to be all that that man says 
you are? Noble? Self-sacrificing? Patient? 
Do you really think that you possess any of 
these qualities ? My dear, you are only a 
little girl after all, and I feel sure that the 
kindest thing I can do is to speak quite 
plainly to you. Do you think I don't know 
you better than that horoscope man ? I've 
lived in the same house, in the most intimate 
companionship with you now for nearly three 
months, and I flatter myself that I know you 
pretty well. When you first came you were 
Original from 





a kind, obliging, pleasant little girl. Ever 
since you had that silly delineation of your 
character you have changed for the worse. 
You are becoming rude, neglectful, silly, and 
vain. 1 have tried to be kind to you, but 
it is really getting too impossible. I am 
obliged to speak frankly, but I live, with you, 
and I really do know you better and under- 
stand your character more thoroughly than a 
person who has only seen your very bad 
handwriting ; a man who has nothing to go 
by but the date of your birth." 

Muriel sniffed. 

"Ah t but he has higher powers than those 
vouchsafed to you/ J she cried, triumphantly, 

1 smiled rather sadly* 

by Google 

4i Well," I said, slowly, M I don't want to 
send you home if I can help it. Try to live up 
to your noble, self-sacrificing character a little 
better, please. Try at least to be amiable. I 
can forgive a good deal to a smiling face." 

And there for the moment the matter 
ended. That evening Gordon rode over 
from Oerlingen, and Muriel's manner to me 
before him was so tolerant and forgiving that 
he was obliged to notice it, and he asked me 
on the first opportunity what I had done to 
be so graciously forgiven, I didn't tell him* 
I didn't want to prejudice him against the 
foolish girl more than was necessary, I 
merely said that 1 had reproved her and she 
was getting over it. 

Original from 




But I caught a long, long lingering look 
from under those brown lashes on its way to 
a pair of handsome Russian eyes, and I 
resolved to break a bad habit of years and 
come down to breakfast at eight the next 

I found Muriel, as I had expected, already 
at the breakfast table, with her elbows on the 
thick blue and green cloth, talking eagerly 
to Mr. Schlopolski* I caught a ib She said" 
and M I said," and knew that Muriel was 
confiding her troubles to those sympathetic 
Slavonic ears. I knew how vague his sym- 
pathy must be, because his English was of 

I was still more annoyed with her for being 
away because I had expected Gordon to lunch 
and he didn't come. He is a very particular 
boy, as a rule, about keeping his appoint- 
ments. At dinner-time Muriel's place was 
still empty, and I began to get anxious about 
her. She was in my charge. She had proved 
herself to be an extremely silly girl, and I 
lelt that she was capable of doing anything 
to annoy me. I wondered if she was in her 
room sulking, and ran upstairs to see* 

Muriel had a pretty sunny bedroom on the 
fourth floor, and I was rather out of breath 
when I reached it and found it empty* 


the most rudimentary kind so far, but Muriel 
didn't seem to mind. She greeted me with 
shocked surprise, but the wily Russian was 
equal to the occasion and quite warm in his 
expression of pleasure. 

Muriel sat as if turned to stone. She 
played with a roll, but she didnt eat half of 
it, and presently she got up and left the 
table. Mr. Schlopolski followed her to the 
door with his dark, smiling regard. 

I didn't see Muriel again the whole of the 
day. I didn't know where she went to, and 

by t^-OOglC 

Lying on the middle of the red tablecloth 
there was a three come red note dramatically 
speared to the table by a hatpin. It was 
addressed to me, and I opened it and read 
it with some misgivings : — 

" I thought it best to keep away from you 
to-day. For the first time I have discovered 
your unworthy suspicions. I know now why 
you are always so angry with me. I am 
dining out with a friend, and shall be home 
about ten. You may consider this an uncon- 
ventional step, but I can only ask you to 




remember that I — am no longer a child. 

Muriel was nineteen. She had no friends 
in Zurich outside the pension. I went down- 
stairs in a great hurry, anxious to see who 
was missing from the dinner- table. Yes, it 
was just as I thought Schlopolski was not 
there. At first I thought I ought to go for 
her, but I couldn't do that. I hadn't the 
slightest idea where she was dining. He 
might have taken her to an hotel in the 
town to the Baur au Lac ; or they might 
have gone up the funicular railway to the 
Holder. Gordon and I had dined with 
the Russian several times on the veranda 
of the Dolder, looking over the whole of 
a beautifully illuminated Zurich, and it was 
because of that that I hesitated to look for 
Muriel there. Schlopolski would be sure to 
guess that I should remember that. If he 
wanted to be undisturbed he would probably 
go in quite a different direction. There was 
nothing for it but to wait until she came 
home, and then scold her well, and make 
her promise that she would never do such a 
thing again. 

She came into my private sitting-room at 
half-past ten with bright eyes and cheeks as 
pink as her hat and blouse. She dropped 
into a chair, and waited with a defiant air 
for what I should say. I didn't ask her any 
questions ; I didn't even ask her where she 
ha<l been. I looked at her quietly for a 
second or two, and then I said : — 

" My dear, you mustn't do this again. 
You wouldn't like your father to know that 
you have done this kind of thing when you 
are away from him. I am not going to scold 
you. I don't want you to think me unkind. 
You see, it doesn't hurt me for you to do 
these things ; it doesn't affect me in any way, 
but I want to prevent you from hurting your- 
self. You don't know how soon a girl is 
talked about over here. A good name is a 
very white and delicate thing, Muriel, and 
when it gets smirched it is almost impossible 
to get it clear again. Of course, you only 
did it for a joke, and there's no real harm in 
it. I see that, but people so readily believe 
the worst of a pretty girl, especially out here. 
I am not going to say any more; but — well 
— don't do it again, my dear." 

She made a little gasping sound, and I 
saw that her bright eyes had suddenly 
grown misty. She rose and came softly 
behind me, stooped and kissed me 
impetuously, and said, in a low voice, " It 
is for your sake," and hurried out of the 


I stared after her in amazement What 
on earth did the child mean ? Then I 
abandoned the problem in despair. Who 
on earth could understand Muriel? 

The next few days she bore herself with an 
air of resigned sadness, but little by little I 
was glad to see that the sadness disappeared 
and she grew quite merry. Even Gordon 
was compelled to admit that she seemed to 
be waking up a bit. I hesitated for some 
time as to whether I should speak to the 
Russian about that mad expedition, but 
finally decided not to. I didn't believe 
Muriel would do it again. From something 
Mr. Schlopolski let fall over his English 
lesson I found that he had been dining at the 
Dolder that night, and no other proof was 
needed. Yet, I had further proof, for Muriel 
herself remarked inadvertently one evening 
on the prettiness of the view at night from 
the Dolder terrace, with all those lights in the 

Once or twice I tried to get the Russian to 
talk to me about Muriel, but he would not 
be drawn. He merely smiled inscrutably and 
changed the subject in his tactful way. 

Then something happened. It must have 
been quite a month after the Dolder affair 
that I had a letter from Muriel's father; 
an agitated, rather reproachful letter which 
gave me to think considerably. He said that 
he and the rest of the family could not help 
seeing from Muriel's letters that she was on 
the point of becoming engaged. He said 
that nothing would please them more than 
for her to make a good and happy marriage, 
but that he insisted upon knowing something 
more of the man before anything was settled. 
He said that Muriel's letters were vague to a 
degree, and full of extraordinarily high-flown 
sentences which they did not pretend to under- 
stand. He thought that I, in whose charge 
she was, would be sure not to encourage an 
unsuitable engagement, and that he relied 
upon me to give him a calm and unprejudiced 
report of the young man. 

Now this puzzled me very much, because, 
as far as I could see, Muriel's friendship with 
the Russian was not gaining headway at all. 
I never saw her talking to him, and I didn't 
think, foolish as she was, that she was the 
sort of girl to make clandestine appointments 
with a foreigner. And there was certainly 
no other young man. I could not help 
thinking that Muriel had probably been 
romancing with her people to gain import- 
ance in their eyes, but I wrote at once 
a reassuring letter to the doctor. And then, 
by an extraordinary coincidence, I had a 




letter from Gordon's mother, who was, as I 
said before, my oldest and dearest friend. 

" Dearest Madge, — When I sent Gordon 
to Zurich you promised to go and keep an 
eye on him. You promised also that you'd 
do your best to keep him from getting mixed 
up with any girl. From something in his 
letters I cannot help feeling that he has 
changed his views about women. I am sure 
he has got to know some girl. He even 
alludes — vaguely, it is true — but still he does 
allude to possibilities of his marriage in the 
distant future. If there is any girl, you must 
certainly know her. Please write at once 
and tell me if I have any grounds i for. 
my suspicion, as in : that case I must come- 
out and put a stop to it at once." 

This was really too funny. 

"If she knew what the Swiss girls were 
like ! " said I to myself. But after I had 
written as comforting a letter as I possibly 
could, I sat down and thought seriously 
about the matter. The truth was, I; had; 
seen very little of Gordon lately; his visits 
had been short and hurried ones, and he > 
had seemed extraordinarily anxious to avoid 
private conversation. Could there possibly 
be anything in this idea of his; mother's? 
Suppose there was a girl at Oerlingen ? 
There might possibly be an English girl 
staying there, more probably an American. 
I determined to visit Oerlingen as soon 
as possible. I would go over and examine 
the whole place and inhabitants as thoroughly » 
as I could. 

So in a few days I set off by one of the 
little lake steamers, and when I got to the 
works I found, to my annoyance, that 
Gordon was away for the day. I was told 
that he was often away now, and I began to 
feel very uncomfortable, for it wasn't like 
him to shirk his work. Still, I could not 
find out anything about any girl 

When I got home to lunch Muriel was 
absent, Frau H enrich told me that she had 
not expected me back till the evening, and I 
suppose she had told Muriel that, and Muriel 
had taken advantage. 

I found two letters waiting for me on the 
table, one from Gordon's mother, saying that 
Gordon's last letter had only increased her 
fears, and that she hoped to come out by the 
day boat, and would l>e with me the next 
morning. The other, to my horror, was 
from Muriel's father, saying practically the 
same thing. Muriel's last letter had been 
most alarming, he said. The idea of a 
Nihilist son-in-law was insufferable to him. 

Vol xlL-22. 

by Google 

He was unspeakably busy, but in spite of 
that he was coming out by the day boat, and 
would be with us early the next morning. 

" Well," said I, grimly, " I am going to 
have a happy day ! " I was. Happier than 
I knew. 

Muriel didn't come in to tea. She was 
not in by dinner-time. Very much annoyed 
and more uncomfortable than I would have 
cared to admit, I ran up to her room. Lying 
on the table, transfixed by a hatpin, was 
another little three cornered note. I tore it 
open, and read it. 

"Dear Mrs. Prendergast, — You told 
me that you wished I would live up to my 
horoscope,' and I have been trying to do so. 
When I first read it, I saw. at once what 
was meant by the dark gentleman. I knew 
that Mr. Schlopolski was falling in love 
with me, by the way he looked at me, and 
I 'guessed at once, that he must be my fate. 
Then, little by little, I began to see that 
you had already given your heart to him. 
I saw how you were suffering with jealous 
anguish, and I determined to trample 
upon my own most sacred feelings and 
sacrifice my happiness to save yours. From 
the moment when I really realized what was 
at stake, I kept him at a distance. Gordon 
saw how heartbroken I was, and, like the 
dear boy he is, he did his best to help me : 
^nd after a time I. began to see that I should 
be carrying out the decrees of fate equally 
well if I married him, because he is quite as 
dark as Mr. Schlopolski. You will see now 
that I am not incapable of unselfishness and 
self-sacrifice and noble generosity. 

" We are going to Basle this morning to 
be married by an English clergyman and a 
special licence, and we are going on by the 
night train to England. 

" I forgive you for all your unkindness and 
misunderstanding, and Gordon sends his 
love, and says he hopes you will never regret 
your fatal passion for Hotschki - Potschki. 
I remain, still your affectionate friend, 

" P.S. — We know that Mr. Schlopolski saw 
us dining at the Dolder that night, and we 
thank him for respecting our secret." 

I put the letter back in the envelope and 
sat down on Muriel's bed, drawing a deep 

" At nine o'clock to-morrow morning 
Gordon's mother and Muriel's father will 
arrive by the same train," I said, grimly, 
"to ask me — probably both, at once — for 
explanations ! " 

Original from 

A S 


tless H 


A Domestic Vision of tke Near Future. 


Illustrations by Rene Bull. 

O a mere man it is always an 
inscrutable mystery that 
woman — housekeeping 
woman— should so resolutely 
set her face against labour- 
saving devices. Of course, 
there are exceptions to the 
rule, and in the long run intelligence and 
convenience carry the day, but it nevertheless 
remains true that all household innovations, 
from the humble and necessary clothes- 
mangle and spring curtain-roller to the 
electric lamp and the electric lift, long found 
in women their most uncompromising oppo- 
nents. An observer, employing only surface 
logic, would have said that the sewing- 
machine and the carpet-sweeper would be 
welcomed by the ladies of England with 
open arms. Read the memoirs of the time, 
and you will find that Howe's invention 
had literally to fight its way to female favour 
long after it had been approved and adopted 
by the other and perhaps more impulsive 

Barring some slight improvements, few of 
which go down to the bed-rock of the house- 
keeping problem, I am inclined to agree 
with the man who said that every household 
in Great Britain is "run on mediaeval lines." 
When the daring fifteenth - century male 
innovator moved the fireplace from the 
middle of the floor and set it beneath a 
brick chimney, he was doubtless stoutly 
opposed by his good wife, and the spirit the 
dame exhibited is shown clearly to-day in 
the treatment her twenty million descendants 
accord the four thousand eight hundred and 
twenty-three servant-saving devices registered 
at our Patent Office. Of course there is a 
reason for all this, and the reason is that, 
notwithstanding the enterprise and volatility 
of the spinster half, the married housekeeper 
— bless her heart!— is the very incarnation 
of conservatism and laughs scornfully at her 
lord's suggestions for a short cut out of her 


" My dear Charles," she says, with pity 
for his ignorance, " you don't understand 
servants. They never would put up with 
any such new-fangled nonsense. If we were 
to run a house on the lines you suggest they 
would leave us." 

" That's exactly it," retorts the Mere Man. 
" Let them leave us. Do you know that 
there are four thousand eight hundred and 
twenty-three household labour-saving devices 
registered at the Patent Office ? How many 
of these have you adopted ? A paltry hundred 
or two." 

And then the truth comes out. 

" Do you know why? Because a woman 
who keeps house intelligently, my dear 
Charles, doesn't want labour-saving devices, 
which only save the labour of a class of 
domestics already only too much addicted 
to laziness. As I was saying to Mrs. Merri- 
dew only yesterday, when she told me about 
her Ethelberta and Millicent " 

" There you are ! " exclaims the Mere Man, 
triumphantly. " I'll wager a sovereign that 
the upshot of your conversation with Mrs. 
Merridew was that servants were growing 
from bad to worse, and had frankly become 
so intolerable that hotel life was the only 
thing the middle class had to look forward 

The mistress of the house faltered. 
. " Why — '■ ye-es," she admitted, " that is 
what I — what she-what we both said. How 
did you know?" 

" Have I never, my dear, overheard the 
conversation of a couple of your sex before ? " 

" Well, as you seem to know ail about 
household management, perhaps you'll have 
the kindness to tell me how you would run 
the house." 

" I'd try science. If machinery can 
plough our fields and reap our harvests, run 
our ships and carriages, write our letters, 
print our newspapers, fan us when we are 
too hot and warm us when we are too cold — 
it surely ought to be able to help a woman 
Original from 




The lady of ihe 
house drummed 
impatiently on 
the table with her 

cleaners are so 
expensive* As to 
the other things, 
if they are really 
any good," she 
said, "why doesn't 
everybody have 

"There you are 

again ! " retorted 

the Mere Man, 

"Why didn't 

everybody use electric light until twenty years 

after it was available ? Have you not read how 

shocked and incredulous l^ondon was when 

Lady Randolph Churchill first lit up her May- 

fair house with electricity ? Now, I was going 

to say that if I were running this house I 

shouldn't have my beds made by servants 

when I could avail myself of the ingenious 

bed- making machine invented many years 

ago by a barrister named Simmonds." 

"What can a barrister know of bed- 
making? A bed making machine, indeed!" 
" Nevertheless, my dear, it worked like a 
charm. You see, it was so simple. You 
pressed a spring and one rod raised the 
counterpane and drew it out taut, another 

Why dust your room in the tdd way, when an ounce of M. Berthelet'a " Therm -Ezbtn A 
ditcharged from a pistol precipitates and destroys all the particles ? 

over her housework. Only woman doesn't 
give science a chance. Why, when science 
invented the umbrella she let Jonas Han way 
carry it about alone for years and only laughed 
at him for his pains,*' 

" Fudge ! How can science answer the 
front -do or bell, wait at table, make beds, 
dust the rooms, sweep " 

The Mere Man interposed. 

" Softly, softly, my dear. Are you aware 
that a couple of ounces of M, Berthelet's 
thernvezdin sprayed into a room will almost 
instantaneously resolve the dust again into 
the atmosphere, so that you open the 
window and blow it out, and your chamber is 
as sweet as the cabin of a yacht ? Have 
you, madam, 
thought of ysing 
thermezdin ? If 
the ladies of 
England were in 
earnest about the 
servant problem, 
and meant never 
again to scold 
Emily or Jane 
for sins of omis- 
sion, do you think 
they wouldn't be 
able to close the 
doors, or, by 
touching a but- 
ton, have every 
atom of dust dis- 
appear like magic 
down a pipe in the 
grate? Then there 
is the vacuum 
cleaner, Whyi?n't 
that used in every 

home f Our artist'* humorous idea, of the bed-making machine of the future. 

by tjOOglC 




lifted the blankets, while two others at top 
and bottom drew off the top and bottom 
sheets and held them fast and erect to air, 
It was all done in a moment, and when you 
wanted the bed made up, down came the 
slender frames and all was in its place again, 
silently and as neat as you please." 

A keen satirical look appeared in the 
lady's eye. 

11 Really ! And how about the mattress ? 
Was that not made up too ? But I suppose 
your clever barrister never thought of lifting 
and shaking and smoothing a mattress— not 
to mention such things as pillows ! " 

"It was unnecessary. The mattress was 
pneumatic— as soft or as hard as you like. 

A sweeping and dusting contrivance for stairs, lialU, and passages, operating At an awkward 


A small wheel at the fout of the bed was 
released by a touch, and inflation or deflation 
was done almost automatically;'* 

The Mere Man gazed at his wife 

" So now," he continued, " having got your 
rooms dusted and your beds made, we will 
descend below stairs." 

The lady gave a cry. 

" Oh, then there are stairs ! And that 
being the case I suppose they will need 
sweeping occasionally. Or is that unneces- 
sary ? " 

" By no means* Personally, I prefer stairs, 
The stairs would be swept daily by the 


simplest contrivance in the world In a 
groove of the banisters runs a rod supporting 
a spiral brush, revolving not unlike an electric 
fan. Pausing on the top step, I touch a 
spring which closes a gate to the stairway. 
At the bottom I negotiate another, and the 
stair- brush automatically descends, Not a 
particle of dust escapes, but all is gathered 
into a receiver ; on the last stair the brush 
strikes a trap way and the heap of dust is shot 
into an external bin. It is really all so simple. 
Alphonse de Rothschild tried it and found it 

" Ah ! Rothschild — I thought so. 
These contrivances are for very rich people. 
We could not afford them." 

" My dear girl," 
pursued the Mere 
Man, " have you 
pondered on the 
cost of the first 
— or of the first 
bicycles ? Forty 
pounds for a 
bicycle was cheap. 
Now you can buy 
them new for five 
pounds, and 
secondhand for a 
Sovereign or two. 
Why ? Because 
they became 
popular* Sooneror 
later the scarcity 
of servants will 
force manufac- 
turers to make 
mechanical bed- 
makers and 
vacuum - cleaners 

The master of 
the house cast his 
eye around the dining-room. 

M There's that coal fire of yours, dear 
Now, I never did understand why you should 
consider it necessary to put the servants to 
such a lot of trouble in fetching in heavy 
coals and cleaning out filthy ashes, If I 
were you, I should have a self-feeder let into 
one wall of the grate connecting with an 
outside bin* When you wanted more coal 
on the fire you'd touch a tiny lever j the coal 
would slide gently in until a sufficient supply 
was obtained. The ashes w r ould descend by 
a trapway beneath the hearth to an external 
ash-bin. But why should we want coal at 
all when electricity is getting so cheap for 
Original from 



If you must have coals and cinders, why not minimize the trouble ? An ingenious automatic scuttle 

and ash-receiver* 

heating purposes? In a few years electric 
radiators will be in all workmen's dwellings," 

" Anything more ? " 

,A Oh, dear, yes, 1 have hardly begun* 
You've no idea of the many household 
contrivances we husbands have invented. 
Take window - cleaning, for example," 

"Oh, I'm glad 
you thought of 
that" The house- 
wife forced a smile. 

M What can be 
more antiquated 
and inconvenient, 
and, I may add, 
dangerous, than 
your present win- 
dow- cleaning 
arrangern ents ? 
Now I should have 
every window sash 
in the house fitted 
with two sets of 
panes, easily ad- 
justable. Once a 
week a man would 
come round to 
change the sashes, 

while the dirty panes would be taken away 
and cleaned." 

The lady interrupted. 

" Perhaps, now that you've abolished 
servants upstairs, you will kindly tell us poor 
women how you propose to annihilate them 
in the kitchen, dining-room, and drawing 

Window -cleaning in the future, Clean sashes arriving and being instantly fitted to 
windows by the " Metropolitan Clean -Window Company." 

by LiOOgl< 




Fitting up a course dinner. One leaf ilips out and 
is replaced by another. 

room. Even supposing your meals to be sent 
in from the pastrycook's — — " 

" From the Dinner Supply Company," 
interpolated the Mere Man. 

11 You must have a servant or two to wait 
at table." 

" Why ? " 

"Good gracious, 
Charles ! You 
don't mean tc 
say » 

He took het 
hand and led her 
into the drawing- 
room. When they 
were seated, he 
drew forth a pencil 
and note- book, 

£i There are 
twenty different 
automatic table- 
waiters — at least, 
table - changers/* 
he said, 4( besides 
other devices. But 
the simplest plan 
of all of changing 
courses is to have the fresh course come 
up from the kitchen direct, The guests 
are seated at table, we will say. All are 
finished with a course. At a given signal 
the table descends through a trap in the 
carpeted floor, which instantly closes again. 
In the meantime another course has been 

The table disappears for an instant ; but why should 
the conversation flag ? 

by Google 

Original from 



got ready, and while the party chats in a 
kind of circle the trap operand the table 
reappears — -with the entree* It is all so 
si m pie.*' 

**0r it might come from the ceiling/- said 
the housewife, with a touch of satire. 

But her spouse was not disturbed. 

"How odd you should say that! It has 
come from the ceiling, and in the house 
in Paris where this system was adopted it 
worked like a charm. No fuss, no waiting, no 
spilling. No* Believe me, my dear, we are 
on the eve of a revolution in these matters of 
housekeeping. People are being driven to 
restaurants to dine because of the difficulties 

hour later the van calls, the cover is re placed , 
and away it goes to the bureau again, The 
linen and service are your own, are insured, 
and are never mixed with any others. Every 
cabinet will be properly labelled, and will be 
duly dispatched to the washing and cleaning 

" A wonderful dream, truly," murmured 
the housewife* 

- . "Yes, but a dream some such genius as 
Joseph Lyons will realize before we are all 
very much older. Science can'tgoon very 
much longer improving gramophones, cine- 
matographs, and airships, and leave the 
problem of running a house to look after 

All dishes and appointments go regularly to the 
municipal cleaners and washer* > 

of dining at home. But when the Associated 
Housekeepers get to work, when the 
Domestic Service, Limited, begins its opera- 
tions in London and the provinces, every- 
one can enjoy the comforts of home in 
the bosom of their family for a fixed rate, 
like water, gas, or electricity. A house- 
keeper will no more think of cooking the 
family dinner than of baking her own bread 
or brewing her own beer. You will, even for 
breakfast, telephone to the local bureau for 
what you want, and at the appointed hour the 
long convert containing it is delivered with 
everything hot and appetizing at your door. 
The lid of the breakfast cabinet is uncovered, 
and it is placed directly on to your table. An 

Digitized by IjOOQ IC 

itself. It'll soon be easier, my dear, to run a 
house than it is to run a motor-car," 

" And what is to become of all the 
domestic servants?" 

" A million or so will fill the places vacated 
by the Suffragettes, who will be governing the 
country and fighting in the army And the 
other half can emigrate to the Colonies, where 
they are in urgent need of a million women 
at once as wives and mothers You cant 
stop science when once it's started. 1 ' 

" I suppose not. In the meantime I must 
go and make tea. This is Imogen's after 
noon offj and Kathleen is in bed with a 
sprained arikle, so we are already enjoying 
the luxury of a l servantless house. " : 


1 i ' - 

** 'it' •- — —¥-■ 


> P^f J 

Illustrate*! by ^Vill Owen* 

OME and have a pint and 
talk it over," said Mr, 
Augustus Teak. "I've got 
reasons in my 'ead that you 
don't dream of t AlC" 

Mr. Chase grunted and 

stole a side-glance at the 

small figure of his companion. "All brains, 

you are, Gussie t " he remarked. "That's 

why it is you're so well off. 51 

11 Come and have a pint," repealed the 
other, and with surprising ease pushed his 
bulky friend into the bar of the Ship and 
Anchor. Mr. Chase, mellowed by a long 
draught, placed his mug on the counter and 
eyed him kindly, then t said : — 

Copyright, i 9 n, 

" Tve been in my lodgings thirteen years." 

"I know," said Mr. Teak ; "but I've got 
a partikler reason for wanting you. Our 
lodger, Mr. Dunn, left last week, and I only 
thought of you yesterday, I mentioned you 
to my missis, and she was quite pleased* 
You see, she knows I've known you for over 
twenty years t and she wants to make sure of 
only 'aving honest people in the 'ouse. She 
has got a reason for it." 

He closed one eye and nodded with great 
significance at his friend. 

11 Oh ! " said Mr. Chase, waiting. 
', "She's a rich woman," said Mr. Teak, 
pulling the other's ear down to his mouth. 

* l She 1" 

b> w. w. j^tPriginalfronn 




" When you've done tickling me with your 
whiskers," said Mr. Chase, withdrawing his 
head and rubbing his ear vigorously, " I 
shall be glad." 

Mr. Teak apologized. "A rich woman," 
he repeated. "She's been stinting me for 
twenty-nine years and saving the money — my 
money ! — money that I 'ave earned with the 
sweat of my brow. She 'as got over three 
'undered pounds ! " 

" 'Ow much ? " demanded Mr. Chase. 

"Three 'undered pounds and more," 
repeated the other ; " and if she had 'ad the 
sense to put it in a bank it would ha' been 
over four 'undered by this time. Instead o' 
that she keeps it hid in the 'ouse." 

44 Where?" inquired the greatly interested 
Mr. Chase. 

Mr. Teak shook his head. "That's just 
what I want to find out," he answered. " She 
don't know I know it ; and she mustn't know, 
either. That's important." 

" How did you find out about it, then ? " 
inquired his friend. 

44 My wife's sister's husband, Bert Adams, 
told me. His wife told 'im in strict con- 
fidence ; and I might 'ave gone to my grave 
without knowing about it, only she smacked 
'is face for 'im the other night." 

44 If it's in the house you ought to be able 
to find it easy enough," said Mr. Chase. 

44 Yes, it's all very well to talk," retorted 
Mr. Teak. " My missis never leaves the 
'ouse unless I'm with her, except when I'm 
at work ; and if she thought I knew of it 
she'd take and put it in some bank or some- 
where unbeknown to me, and I should be 
farther off it than ever." 

44 Haven't you got no idea?" said Mr. 

44 Not the leastest bit," said the other. 44 1 
never thought for a moment she was saving 
money. She's always asking me for more, 
for one thing ; but, then, all women do. And 
look 'ow bad it is for her — saving money like 
that on the sly. She might grow into a miser, 
pore thing. For 'er own sake I ought to get 
hold of it, if it's only to save her from 'erself." 

Mr. Chase's face reflected the gravity of 
his own. 

44 You're the only man I can trust," con- 
tinued Mr. Teak, "and I thought if you 
came as lodger you might be able to find out 
where it is hid, and get hold of it for me." 

44 Me steal it, d'ye mean ? " demanded the 
gaping Mr. Chase. "And suppose she got 
me locked up for it ? I should look pretty, 
shouldn't I ? " 

44 No ; you find out where it is hid," said 

VoL xlL-2a 

the other; " that's all you need do. I'll find 
some way of getting hold of it then." 

44 But if you can't find it, how should I be 
able to ? " inquired Mr. Chase. 

44 'Cos you'll 'ave opportunities," said the 
other. " I take her out some time when 
you're supposed to be out late; you come 
'ome, let yourself in with your key, and spot 
the hiding-place. I get the cash, and give 
you ten — golden — sovereigns — all to your 
little self. It only occurred to me after Bert 
told me about it, that I ain't been in the 
house alone for years." 

He ordered some more beer, and, drawing 
Mr. Chase to a bench, sat down to a long 
and steady argument. It shook his faith in 
human nature to find that his friend estimated 
the affair as a twenty-pound job, but he was 
in no position to bargain. They came Out 
smoking twopenny cigars whose strength was 
remarkable for their age, and before they 
parted Mr. Chase was pledged to the hilt 
to do all that he could to save Mrs. Teak 
from the vice of avarice. 

It was a more difficult undertaking than he 
had supposed. The house, small and com- 
pact, seemed to offer few opportunities for 
the concealment of large sums of money, and 
after a fortnight's residence he came to the 
conclusion that the treasure must have been 
hidden in the garden. The unalloyed 
pleasure, however, with which Mrs. Teak 
regarded the efforts of her husband to put 
under cultivation land that had lain fallow 
for twenty years convinced both men that 
they were on a wrong scent. Mr. Teak, 
who did the digging, was the first to realize 
it, but his friend, pointing out the suspicions 
that might be engendered by a sudden 
cessation of labour, induced him to persevere. 

44 And try and look as if you liked it," he 
said, severely. " Why, from the window even 
the back view of you looks disagreeable." 

44 I'm fair sick of it," declared Mr. Teak. 
44 Anybody might ha' known she wouldn't 
'ave buried it in the garden. She must 'ave 
been saving for pretty near thirty years, week 
by week, and she couldn't keep coming out 
here to hide it. 'Tain't likely." 

Mr. Chase pondered. " Let her know, 
casual like, that I sha'n't be 'ome till late on 
Saturday," he said, slowly. " Then you come 
'ome in the afternoon and take her out. As 
soon as you're gone I'll pop in and have a 
thorough good hunt round. Is she fond of 

44 1 b'lieve so," said the other, staring. 
44 Why ? " 

44 Take ^'^M^Zoo," said Mr. Chase, 


i 7 8 


impressively. "Take two-penn'orth o' nuts 
with you for the monkeys, and some stale 
buns for— for — for animals as likes 'em. 
Give 'er a ride on the elephant and a ride 
on the camel." 

u Anything else ? " inquired Mr. Teak, dis- 
agreeably. ''Any more ways you can think 
of for me to spend my money ? " 

"You do as I tell you," said his friend. 
" I've got an idea now where it is. If I'm 
able to show you where to put your finger on 
three undred pounds when you come 'ome 
it 11 be the cheapest outing you have ever 'ad. 
Won't it?" 

Mr. Teak made no reply, but, after spend- 
ing the evening in deliberation, issued the 
invitation at the supper table. His wife's 
eyes sparkled at first ; then the light slowly 
faded from them and her face fell. 

11 1 can't go," she said, at last. " I've got 
nothing, to go in/' 

" Rubbish ) " said her husband, starting 

" It's a fact," said Mrs. Teak. " I should 
like to go, too —it's years since I was at the 
Zoo. I might make my jacket do ; it's my 
hat I'm thinking about " 

Mr. Chase, meeting Mr. Teak's eye, 
winked an obvious suggestion. 

" So, thanking you all thfe same," con- 
tinued Mrs. Teak, with amiable cheerfulness, 
" HI stay at home." 

" Ow — 'ow much are they?" growled her 
husband, scowling at Mr. Chase. 

" All prices," replied his wife. 

" Yes, I know," said Mr. Teak, in a grating 
voice. " You go in to buy a hat at one and 
elevenpence ; you get talked over and flattered 
by a man like a barber's block, and you come 
out with a four and-sixpenny one. The only 
real difference in hats is the price, but women 
can never see it " 

Mrs. Teak smiled faintly, and again ex- 
pressed her willingness to stay at home. They 
could spend the afternoon working in the 
garden, she said. Her husband, with another 
indignant glance at the right eye of Mr. 
Chase, which was still enacting the part of a 
camera-shutter, said that she could have a 
hat, but asked her to remember when buying 
it that nothing suited her so well as a plain 

The remainder of the week passed away 
slowly ; and Mr. Teak, despite his utmost 
efforts, was unable to glean any information 
from Mr. Chase as to that gentleman's ideas 
concerning the hiding place. At every sug- 
gestion Mr. Chase's smile only got broader 
and more indulgent. 

" You leave it to me," he said. " You leave 
it to me, and when you come home from a 
'appy outing I 'ope to be able to cross your* 
little hand with three undred golden quids." 

" But why not tell me?" urged Mr. Teak. 

"'Cos I want to surprise you," was the 
reply. "But mind, whatever you do, don't 
let your wife run away with the idea that I've 
been mixed up in it at all. Now, if you worry 
me any more I shall ask you to make it thirty 
pounds for me instead of twenty." 

The two friends parted at the corner of the 
road on Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Teak, 
conscious of his friend's impatience, sought 
to hurry his wife by occasionally calling 
the wrong time up the stairs. She came 
down at last, smiling, in a plain hat with 
three roses, two bows, and a feather. 

" I've had the feather for years," she 
remarked. " This is the fourth hat it has 
been on — but, then, I've taken care of it." 

Mr. Teak grunted, and, opening the door, 
ushered her into the street. A sense of 
adventure and the hope of a profitable after- 
noon made his spirits rise. He paid a com- 
pliment to the hat, and then, to the surprise 
of both, followed it up with another — a very 
little one— to his wife. 

They took a tram at the end of the street, 
and for the sake of the air mounted to the 
top. Mrs. Teak leaned back in her seat 
with placid enjoyment, and for the first ten 
minutes amused herself with the life in the 
streets. Then she turned suddenly to her 
husband and declared that she had felt a 
spot of rain. 

" 'Magination," he said, shortly. 

Something cold touched him lightly on the 
eyelid, a tiny pattering sounded from the 
seats, and then— swish, down came the rain. 
With an angry exclamation he sprang up and 
followed his wile below. 

" Just our luck," she said, mournfully. 
" Best thing we can do is to stay in ihe car 
and go back with it." 

" Nonsense ! " said her husband, in a 
startled voice ; " it'll be over in a minute." 

Events proved the contrary. By the time 
the car reached the terminus it was coming 
down heavily. Mrs. Teak settled herself 
squarely in her seat, and patches of blue 
sky, visible only to the eye of faith and her 
husband, failed to move her. Even his 
reckless reference to a cab failed. 

" It's no good," she said, tartly. " We 
can't go about the grounds in a cab, and 
I'm not going to slop about in the wet to 
please anybody.. .We must go another time. 
It's hard luck, but there's worse things in life." 




Mr* Teak, wondering as to the opera- 
tions of Mr, Chase, agreed dumbly. He 
stopped the car at the comer of their 
road, and, holding his head down against 
the rain, sprinted towards home. Mrs 
Teak f anxious for her hat, 
passed him, 

" What on earth's the 
matter ? " she inquired, 
fumbling in her pocket 
for the key as her husband 
executed a clumsy but 
noisy breakdown on the 
front step, 

"Chill," replied Mr. 
Teak. " I've 
got wet" 

He resumed 
his lumberings 
and, the door 
being opened, 
gave vent to 
his relief at 
being home 
again in the 
dry, in a voice 
that made the 
windows rattle, 
Then with 
anxious eyes he 
watched his 
wife pass up- 

what excuse 
old Alfll make 
for being in ? " 
he thought. 

He stood 
with one foot 
on the bottom 
stair, listening acutely, 
open above, and then 
shriek rang through the house. Instinctively 
he dashed upstairs and, following his wife 
into their bedroom, stood by her side gaping 
stupidly at a pair of legs standing on the 
hearthstone. As he watched they came back- 
wards into the room, the upper part of a body 
materialized from the chimney, and turning 
round revealed the soot - stained face of 
Mr. Alfred Chase. Another wild shriek from 
Mrs, Teak greeted its appearance. 

**Hul-lo!" exclaimed Mr, Teak, groping 
for the right thing to say* " HuMo ! What 
— what are you doing, Alf?" 

Mr, Chase blew the soot from his lips. 
"I — I— I come 'ome unexpected," he 

Digitized by V^OOglc 




He heard a door 
a wild, ear-splitting 

" But — what are — you doing?" panted 
Mrs. leak, in a rising voice. 

" I — I was passing your door," said Mr, 
Chase, "passing your door — to go to 
my room to — to J ave a bit of a rinse, 
when " 

"Yes, 3 said Mrs, Teak 

Mr. Chase gave Mr* Teak a glance the 
pathos of which even the soot could not 
conceal. "When I — I heard a pore little 
bird struggling in your chimbley/' he con- 
tinued, with a sigh of relief. " Being fond 
of animals, I took the liberty of connV into 
your room and saving its life." 

Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endea- 
voured in vain to render noiseless. 

"It got its pore little foot caught in the 
brick work, &'rif)illiriiJgtt rrthe veracious Mr, 




Chase, tenderly. u I released it, and it 
flowed — 1 mean flew - up the chimbley." 

With the shamefaced air of a man detected 
in the performance of a noble action, he 
passed out of the room. Husband and wife 
eyed each other. 

' "That's Alf— that's Alf all over/ 1 said Mr. 
Teak, with enthusiasm. u He's been like it 

plenty of places to search yet- I've only just 
begun. (Jet her out as much as you can 
and Til T ave my hands on it afore you can 

say " 

" Soot ? " suggested Mr. Teak, sourly, 
" Any more of your nasty snacks and I 
chuck it up," said Mr. Chase, heatedly. " If 
I wasn't hard up I'd drop it now/' 

\ [j 


from a child. He's the sort of man that 
*ud dive off Waterloo Bridge to save llie 
life of a sparrow*" 

" He's made an awful mess,'' said his wife, 
frowning ; gt it'll take me the rest of the day 
to clean up* There's soot everywhere. The 
rug is quite spoilt." 

She took off her hat and jacket and pre- 
pared for the fray, Down below Messrs, 
Teak and Chase, comparing notes, sought, 
with much warmth, to put the hlame on the 
right shoulders. 

" Well, it ain't there," said Mr. Chase, 
finally. " I've made sure of that. That's 
something towards it- I shaVt J ave to look 
there again, thank goodness/* 

Mr. Teak sniffed, " Got any more ideas ? " 
he queried. 

( * I have/' said the other, sternly- "There's 


He went up to his mom in dudgeon, and 
for the next few days Mr + Teak saw but little 
of him* To lure Mrs* Teak out was almost 
as difficult as to persuade a snail to leave its 
shell, hut he succeeded on two or three 
occasions, and each time she added some- 
thing to her wardrobe. 

The assistant fortune-hunter had been in 
residence just a month when Mr* Teak, re- 
turning home one afternoon, stood in the 
small passage listening to a suppressed wail- 
ing noise proceeding from upstairs. It was 
so creepy that halfway up he hesitated, and, 
in a stern but trembling voice, demanded to 
know what his wife meant by it* A louder^ 
wail than before was the only reply, anc 
summoning up his courage, he pushed ope 
the door of [he hod morn and peeped in. 
gaze fdl on M r^- k ?f^feri w ho was sitting 




the hearth-rug, rocking to and fro in front of 
a dismantled fire-place. 

"What— what's the matter?" he said, hastily. 

Mrs. Teak raised her voice to a pitch that 
set his teeth on edge. " My money ! " she 
wailed. " It's all gone ! All gone 1 " 

" Money 1" repeated Mr. Teak, hardly 
able to contain himself. "What money?" 

" All — all my savings ! " moaned his wife. 

" Savings ! " said the delighted Mr. Teak. 
" What savings ? " 

"Money I have been putting by for our 
old age," said his wife. "Three hundred 
and twenty-two pounds. All gone ! " 

In a fit of sudden generosity Mr. Teak 
decided then and there that Mr. Chase 
should have the odd twenty-two pounds. 

" You're dreaming ! " he said, sternly. 

" I wish I was," said his wife, wiping her 
eyes. "Three hundred and twenty-two 
pounds, in empty mustard-tins. Every 
ha'penny gone ! " 

Mr. Teak's eye fell on the stove. He 
stepped forward and scrutinized it. The 
back was out, and Mrs. Teak, calling his 
attention to a tunnel at the side, implored 
him to put his arm in and satisfy himself that 
it was empty. 

" But where could you get all that money 
from?" he demanded, after a prolonged 

" Sa — sa — saved it," sobbed his wife, " for 
our old age." 

"Our old age?" repeated Mr. Teak, in 
lofty tones. " And suppose I had died first ? 
Or suppose you had died sudden ? This is 
what comes of deceitfulness and keeping 
things from your husband. Now somebody 
has stole it." 

Mrs. Teak bent her head and sobbed 
again. " I — I had just been out for — for an 
hour," she gasped, " When I came back I 
fou — fou — found the washhouse window 
smashed, and " 

Sobs choked her utterance. Mr. Teak, 
lost in admiration of Mr. Chase's cleverness, 
stood regarding her in silence. 

" What — what about the police ? " said his 
wife at last. 

" Police ! " repeated Mr. Teak, with extra- 
ordinary vehemence. " Police ! Certainly 
not. D'ye think I'm going to let it be known 
all round that I'm the husband of a miser? 
I'd sooner lose ten times the money." 

He stalked solemnly out of the room and 
downstairs, and, safe in the parlour, gave vent 
to his feelings in a wild, but silent, hornpipe. 
He cannoned against the table at last, and, 
subsiding into an easy-chair, crammed his 

handkerchief to his mouth and gave way to 
suppressed mirth. 

In his excitement he forgot all about tea, 
and the bereaved Mrs. leak made no attempt 
to come downstairs to prepare it. With his 
eye on the clock he waited with what patience 
he might for the arrival of Mr. Chase. The 
usual hour for his return came and went. 
Another hour passed ; and another. A 
horrible idea that Mr. Chase had been 
robbed gave way to one more horrible still. 
He paced the room in dismay, until at nine 
o'clock his wife came down, and in a languid 
fashion began to set the supper-table. 

" Alf 's very late," said Mr. Teak, thickly. 

" Is he? " said his wife, dully. 
."Very late," said Mr. Teak. "I can't 
think Ah, there he is ! " 

He took a deep breath and clenched his 
hands together. By the time Mr. Chase 
cape into the room he was able to greet him 
with a stealthy wink. Mr. Chase, with a 
humorous twist of his mouth, winked back. 

" We've 'ad a upset," said Mr. Teak, in 
warning tones. 

" Eh ? " said the other, as Mrs. Teak threw 
her apron over her head and sank into a 
chair. "What about?" 

In bated accents, interrupted at times by 
broken murmurs from his wife, Mr. Teak 
informed him of the robbery. Mr. Chase, 
leaning against the door-post, listened with 
open mouth and distended eyeballs. Occa- 
sional interjections of pity and surprise 
attested his interest. The tale finished, the 
gentlemen exchanged a significant wink and 
sighed in unison. 

" And now," said Mr. Teak an hour later, 
after his wife had retired, " where is it ? " 

" Ah, that's the question," said Mr. Chase, 
roguishly. " I wonder where it can be ? " 

" I— I hope it's in a safe place," said Mr. 
Teak, anxiously. " Where 'ave you put it ? " 

" Me f " said Mr. Chase. " Who are you 
getting at ? I ain't put it anywhere. You 
know that." 

" Don't play the giddy-goat," said the 
other, testily. " Where've you hid it ? Is it 

Mr. Chase leaned back in his chair and, 
shaking his head at him. smiled approvingly. 
" You're a little wonder, that's what you are, 
Gussie," he remarked. "No wonder your 
pore wife is took in so easy." 

Mr. Teak sprang up in a fury. " Don't 
play the fool," he said, hoarsely. " Where's the 
money? I want it. Now, where've you put it?" 

" Go on," said Mr. Chase, with a chuckle. 
" Go on. Don't mind me. You ought to be 




on the stage, Gussie, that's where you ought 
to be." 

" I'm not joking," said Mr. Teak, in a 
trembling voice, " and I don't want you to 
joke with me. If you think you are going off 
with my money, you're mistook. If you don't 
tell me in two minutes where it is, I shall 
give you in charge for theft." 






u Oh ! '*' said Mr. Chase. He took a deep 
breath " Oh, really ! " he said. " I wouldn't 
'ave thought it of you, Gussie. I wouldn't 
'ave thought you'd have played it so low 
down. I'm surprised at you." 

" You thought wrong, then," said the other. 

" Trying to do me out o' my twenty pounds, 
that's what you are," said Mr. Chase, knitting 
his brows. " But it won't do, my boy. I 
wasn't born yesterday. Hand it over, afore 
I lose my temper. Twenty pounds I want of 
you, and I don't leave this room till I get it." 

Speechless with fury, Mr. Teak struck at 
him. The next moment the supper-table was 
overturned with a crash, and Mr. Chase, with 
his friend in his powerful grasp, was doing his 
best, as he expressed it, to shake the life out 
of him. A faint scream sounded from above, 
steps pattered on the stairs, and Mrs. Teak, 
with a red shawl round her shoulders, burst 
hurriedly into the room. Mr. Chase 
released Mr. Teak, opened his mouth to 
speak, and then, thinking better of it, 
dashed into the passage, took his hat 
from the peg, and, slamming the front 
extra violence, departed. 

He sent round for 
his clothes next day, 
but he did not see 
Mr. Teak until a 
month afterwards. His 
fist clenched and his 
mouth hardened, but 
Mr. Teak, with a 
pathetic smile, held 
out his hand, and Mr. 
Chase, after a 
moment's hesitation, 
took it. Mr. Teak, 
still holding his 
friend's hand, piloted 
him to a neighbouring 

" It was my mis- 
take, A If," he said, 
shaking his head, 
"but it wasn't my 
fault. It's a mis- 
take anybody might 
ha' made." 
" Have you found out who took it ? " 
inquired Mr. Chase, regarding him 

Mr. Teak gulped and nodded. "I 

met Bert Adams yesterday," he said, 

slowly. " It took three pints afore he told 

me, but I got it out of 'im at last. My 

missis took it herself." 

Mr. Chase put his mug down with a bang. 
" What ? " he gasped. 

" The day after she found you with your 
head up the chimbley," added Mr. Teak, 
mournfully. " She's shoved it away in some 
bank now, and I shall never see a ha'penny 
of it. If you was a married man, Alf, you'd 
understand it better. You wouldn't be 
surprised at anything." 

by Google 

Original from 

Japanese F lower- Statuary. 


A SCENE FROM THE PLAY ll CUlL'SHl Ni.iCKA, K I IkJ^i; VI I ] > HV IXOttlk He ;t: Kk>>. 
From ft] HONZO CUTTING THE 1TNE-HRANCH. | Pfcjioffmjj*. 

ESIDE the major arts— -the 
pointing, sculpture, architec- 
ture, metal - work, lacquer, 
and pottery — for which they 
have made themselves famous, 
the Japanese practise a 
number of minor arts of great 
ingenuity and interest, an example of which 
was supplied in the sand-pictures on which 
I wrote in this Magazine some time ago* 
The cultivation of dwarf trees is another 
— an art of greater reason and significance 
than the superficial observer is apt to per- 
ceive. And among the many branches of 
flower cultivation and breeding which the 
Japanese have made their own, that of the 
chrysanthemum is particularly noticeable. 
The great autumn shows of chrysanthemums 
at Dangozaka, near Tokto, offer many wonders 
to their crowds of visitors — miracles of 
breeding and cultivation and marvels of 
arrangement. The road to Dangozaka is 
bordered with gardens, and at the time of 
the chrysanthemum shows— a sori of national 
festival, for the chrysanthemum is the 
Japanese national flower— the way is lined 
with stalls of all sorts and made gay with 

many thousands of flags and lanterns. The in the. 

village — or suburb— of Dangozaka seems a 
congeries of chrysanthemum gardens and 
nothing else* Two sen— which is about a 
halfpenny — is the price of admission to any 
garden, and in any and all of them are dis- 
played strange triumphs of horticulture — 
rows of hundreds of chrysanthemum plants 
obeying orders in their growth like a regiment 
of soldiers on their parade. You will see them 
in long ranks, each plant a facsimile of the next 
beside it, with exactly the same number of 
blooms on each. And not merely that ; the 
top bloom will he fully opened, and so make 
one of a perfectly level and equal line of fully 
opened blooms ; the next will be nearly 
opened, and again one of a similar row ; the 
flowers of the third row are open to a less 
degree ; and so they decrease to the feet of 
the plantSj where a row of close green buds 
extends. So that the whole long rank 
presents a constantly repeated scale of all the 
beauties of the opening flower, from bud to 
fullest bloom. And the marvel does not 
stop even here ; for not only the blossoms, 
but the leaves are matched in nurnl>er and 
situation. In other places, instead of straight 
lines , the plants nre disposed fan -fas hi on, or 


1 84 


But the popular part of the show is pro- 
vided by the kiku ningvo, or chrysanthemum 
figures. In different parts of the garden, on 
raised wooden stages, sheltered from bad 
weather by roofs such as that which covered 
the dwarf gardens at the Japan British Ex- 
hibition last year, are life-sized human figures 
built wholly of growing chrysanthemum 
flowers with the exception of the heads and 
hands, which are realistically modelled in 
wood, and painted. The plants have their 
roots under wire frames, which map out the 
general forms of the costumes, and the 
myriad Bowers build up the figures, each 
having been tied in its place as a bud and 
now as an open flower taking its place in 
some detail of the dress. Figures of national 
heroes and scenes of history are common, 
and sometimes — as during the war with 
Russia— figures of living soldiers and sailors. 
But among the most numerous and popular 
scenes represented are those from plays, 
wherein the figures of well-known actors are 
presented In their 
most famous charac- 
ters. Every detail of 
the most gorgeous 
costumes is repro- 
duced faithfully in 
growing flowers, of 
all manner of brilliant 
colours, and each part 
of a warrior's armour 
and equipment is 
clear to distinguish. 

The great blossoms 
of the usual show* 
chry sant hem u m s are 
not used for this pur- 
pose, but those of a 
much smaller and 
more compact variety, 
and this for two 
reasons. In the first 
place, the smaller, 
closer flowers build 
into more clearly - 
defined masses, and 
mark out patterns 
with far more pre- 
cision than large and 
loos el y-pe t a I led 
blooms j and in the 
second place the 
small compact variety of plant used carries its 
flowers fresh and unfaded for a much longer 
time than do other kinds* But of course even 
the flowers used fade in time; and toward 
the end of the shows it is sometimes found 


necessary to clip away faded blooms and 
replace them with cut flowers of the same sort 
But in the prime of the show all the flowers 
are living and growing in their places, and 
here, by way of illustration, we have a series of 
figures from tableaux illustrating situations in 
the most famous and popular of all Japanese 
plays— the " Chiushingura." Photographs of 
these Rower- figures, by the way, are not easy 
to make. The light on brilliant masses of 
flowers on the one hand, and the dark^ 
shadows of the overhanging roof on the 
other, cause a confusion of actinic conditions 
which is altogether unfavourable. 

The u Chiushingura" is the epic of the 
virtue most honoured in old Japan — Cfnushin, 
or loyalty* In Europe the story is mostly 
known as that or the " Forty-Seven Ron in. " 
The tale— it exists as a story in as many 
versions as it does as a play — had its founda- 
tion in fact at the beginning of the eighteenth 
century, But the representation of actual 
con tern porn ry or recent affairs was forbidden 

on the stage and in 
fiction j consequently 
the names of the 
principal characters 
were disguised and 
the date placed some 
hundreds of years 
farther back, with 
changes and embel- 
lishments to suit 

The picture on this 
I age shows a figure 
in the opening scene 
of the ptay. It is that 
of the actor Onoye 
Ivikugoro in the 
character of Yenya 
Takasada, a daimio 
of the time of the 
Shogun Ashikaga 
Taka uji, early in the 
f o u r t ee n h century. 
The Shoguns, it may 
he explained for the 
benefit of those who 
have not studied Jap- 
anese history* were 
The actual rulers of 
Japan in the old 
days — the long 
line of military 
despots who governed the country, nomin- 
ally under the authority of the Emperor, 
but actually without any check or restraint, 
the Emperor being invariably a sacred, 

ted nonentity. "As 'the play opens we 




learn that the Shogun Taka-uji, in com- 
memoration of victory over his enemies, has 
commanded a temple to be built, and now 
his younger brother, Naoyoshi, has arrived as 
his deputy to open and consecrate the build- 
ing. A certain nobleman — the villain of the 
piece— Moronao, Lord of Musashi, is in 
charge of the ceremonies of reception, having 

manner is harsh, overbearing, and insolent, 
and the proud nobles grow resentful. On 
one occasion Wakasanosuke is so insulted 
that he barely restrains himself from drawing 
his sword on Moronao, even in the 5hogun T s 
palace, where the penalty for such an act is 
death and confiscation of estates, 

The news of this state of affairs reaches 

Prom «J 



as his lieutenants Takasada, whose figure 
is given, and Wakasanosuke Yasuchika, 
The Shogun's brother commands that a 
coffer be opened in which a number of 
helmets are stored. One of these belonged 
to the famous Nitta Yoshisada, who was 
killed in battle fighting against Taka uji. 
It has been resolved, nevertheless, that, 
since Nitta was a man of high lineage, and 
the helmet was presented to him by the Em- 
peror Godaigo, it shall be placed as a treasure 
in the new temple. But there is a doubt as 
to which of the number is the true helmet, 
and the lady Kawoyo, wife of Yenya Taka- 
sada, who was a maid of honour at the Im- 
perial palace at the time of its bestowal, is 
called in to identify it. This she does, and 
in the scene of which the figure forms a part, 
Yenya Takasada is carrying the helmet 
on a stand. He wears the ceremonial black 
yeb&ski cap and the haori and hakama which 
form part of the dress proper to the official 
occasion. To his left kneels his colleague, 
Wakasanosuke, similarly attired, as we see in 
the above photograph. Moronao, chief of the 
three commissioners, Naoyoshi, and the lady 
Kawoyo form other figures in the tableau. 

The succession of ceremonies on this great 
occasion is a long one, and Moronao has to 
instruct his lieutenants in their duties, His 

Vol, jcM-24 

by Google 

Kakogawa Honzo, chief councillor of Wa- 
kasanosuke, and he is filled with apprehension 
for his lord's safety* At any moment 
Moronao \s insolence may pass his patience 
and lead to an outburst that may involve 
death for Wakasanosuke and ruin for his 
family. Thus troubled, the chief councillor 
receives a message to attend his lord. Waka- 
sanosuke informs Hon/o of the treatment he 
has received from Moronao, He further 
says that he is resolved to brook no more 
insults, but if occasion should arise to avenge 
them on the spot regardless of consequences ; 
and that he confides the whole matter to 
Honzo in order that the facts of the case may 
be known in case the matter ends tragically. 

In course of the dramatic interview between 
the lord and his councillor, which takes place 
on a veranda, Honzo draws his shorter sword 
— the one carried by every samurai for self- 
dispatch at the call of honour — and slashes off 
a branch of pine that hangs before the house. 

" So let my lord's enemies be cut off by 
his hand!" cries the councillor. 

This is the subject of the next scene, 
shown in the photograph at the head of this 
article, Wakasanosuke is sealed in the back- 
ground on a cushion, and Honzo, standing 
before the veranda, cuts at the pine- branch. 
From the wooden label at his side we learn that 

Original from 


1 86 


the actor represented as taking the character 
of Wakasanosuke is Ichimura Kakitsu, 

But Kakogawa Hon/o, with all his fierce 
loyalty, is a man of discreet and cautious 
temper* He resolves to save his lord in 
spite of himself, and, unknown to him, to 
placate Moronao with costly gifts. The time 
is short, for a few hoars of early morning 
only remain before the commissioners are to 
meet agaia But Honzo accomplishes his 
purpose, and the covetous Moronao, won 
over by the splendid bribe, receives Wakasa- 
nosuke this time with extreme favour, offering 
the humblest apologies for his rudeness of 
yesterday, Wakasanosuke is wholly taken 
aback by this sudden change of manner, 
being quite ignorant of the reason. He has 
come prepared to 
strike down his 
enemy without 
mercy, and, his 
pent - up rage 
being turned back 
by Moronao 's ex- 
cessive protesta- 
tions, he stam- 
mers a few polite 
sentences and 

But Yenya 
Takasada, the 
other commis- 
sioner, now 
arrives. His own 
chief councillor 
is away on a jour- 
ney, and no pre 
sents have been 
received from 
him. Moreover, 
the ruftian Moro- 
nao nut only wel- 
comes the opportunity or his temporary official 
subordination to himself to browbeat a noble- 
man of equal rank, but has an additional 
motive of hatred, coveting not only the gold, 
but the wife of Yenya, the beautiful lady 
Kawoyo. Consequently, the whole weight of 
Moronao's insolence falls on Takasada, who 
at first pretends to receive it in jest ; but at 
length, goaded beyond endurance by a last 
insult, he draws his sword and cuts down 
his enemy- At this moment Honzo appears 
and runs to restrain Yenya, so that Moronao 
escapes merely wounded. 

But the capital crime has been committed. 
Yenya Takasada has drawn his sword in the 
palace precincts, and has attacked the officer 
under whose orders he has been placed. He 


by Google 

is confined to his castle while his case is 
considered. Then comes the sentence. He 
is ordered to die by his own hand, and his 
estates are confiscated. 

His chief councillor, Yuranosuke, the hero 
of the play, breaks his journey and hastens to 
his lord's side ; but he arrives in time only to 
witness his death agonies and to receive his 
last words. Yenya's retainers are dispersed, 
and become romn — that is to say, warriors 
without a chief* Literally, the word romn 
means "wave men" — wanderers with no 
governance or object, like the waves of the sea. 
But by the old Japanese code of honour 
they have a duty to fulfil As loyal soldiers 
they must execute vengeance on their dead 
master's enemy. Not till the head of 

M o r o n a o i s 
placed as an offer- 
ing before the 
tomb of Yenya 
can their lord's 
spirit rest in 
peace- Yurano- 
suke and his son 
Rikiya call the 
best of their men 
together and 
swear them to 
vengeance on the 
dirk wherewith 
Yenya has killed 
himself. Then 
forty -seven, dis- 
perse in order to 
distract attention 
from their pur 
pose and throw off 
suspicion. Some 
become traders — 
an immeasurable 
descent for a man of two swords — and one at 
least turns himself into a street pedlar, in 
order the better to keep watch on the enemy, 
while Yuranosuke concerts his plans. 

Yuranosuke, for his part* disgraces himself 
by vulgar dissi pation. Everybody knows 
that the duty of a true samurai in his position 
is not to rest till his wronged lord is avenged. 
Consequently Moronao and his retainers are 
on their guard- Their suspicions must be 
hilled. They must be persuaded that 
Yuranosuke and his men are miserable caitiffs 
who care nothing for their duty and contemn 
the memory of their lord. This sacrifice of 
honour, the last and worst sacrifice a samurai 
may make, greater than ten thousand deaths, 
Yuranosuke makes cheerfully. He is seen 

Original from 



] -J--TAJ i;. 




reeling drunk in the lowest resorts ; he 
consorts with companions unworthy to sit 
with a soldier ; and there are singularly 
moving scenes, wherein, put to grievous tests, 
he even reviles the name of his injured lord. 
So low does he fall that on one occasion a 
samurai of Satsuma, seeing him lying drunk 
in the street and knowing the duty ihis 
apparent poltroon owes his departed master, 
kicks him as he lies. This also Yur&nosuke 
endures meekly. So far does he go lhat 
some of the ronin themselves are deceived, 
and talk of hacking the traitor to pieces* 
But all this time Yuranosuke's schemes 
are maturing, and the guard on Moro- 
nao*s castle is gradually relaxed. 

At last the night of vengeance arrives 

— - a night of snow and 
moonlight. The for ty-seven, 
fully armed and with all 
preparations made, meet 
secretly, and under the 
command of Yuranosuke 
storm Moronao's castle, cut 
their way through his hastily- 
summoned retainers, and, 
after a search, seize Moro- 
nao himself. But he is a 
no hie man ; they are gentle- 
men and samurai, and forms 
must be observed. He is 
placed in an elevated posi- 
tion, and Vuranosuke, bow- 
ing low before him, humbly 
requests pardon for his 
violence, and begs that 
Moronao shall present the ronin with his 
head, thus giving him the opportunity of 
dying honourably by his own hand, as Yenya 
had done. But the villain is unworthy his 
rank, and has not the grace to die becom- 
ingly. He attempts escape, and instantly falls 
beneath the blows of a shower of blades. 

So is the duty of the forty-seven accom- 
plished, The head of Moronao is placed 
with due ceremony before the tomb of Yenya, 

FrtHH. ftl 



by Google 

Original from 

1 88 


and the romn await the order of the Shogun 
as to their own fate, About this there can 
be no question. They must all die, but not 
by the hands of the executioner. Each has 
the privilege of dying by his own sword, as 
Yenya had done before them. This they 
do in all honour and esteem, and so follow 
their lord upon the dark path. 

When ail is over there comes post-haste a 
man from Satsuma, who has heard news of 
the vengeance. He is the samurai who 
spurned and spat on Yuranosuke as he lay 
grovelling inthestreeL 
Now he knows all, 
and is come to atone 
for the insult he has 
put upon so brave and 
loyal a vassal He 
kneels before Yura- 
nosuke f s tomb, bows 
humbly, and straight- 
way yields up his 
own life in expiation 
of his offence. 

Such is the general 
outline of the story, 
but it is much longer 
in its entirety, with 
underplots and many 
dramatic incidents. 
Among these last is 
that shown by the 
figures in the fourth 
photograph. Konami, 
the daughter of Kako- 
gawa Honzo, is be- 
trothed to Rikiya, son 
of Yuranosuke- But 
Monaco has incurred 
the hatred of Yurano- 
suke s family, for two 
reasons. He is con- 
temned for stooping 
to bribe Moronao, 
and especially he is 
hated because his interference 
Yenya from executing his own 
on his enemy, Yuranosuke's 
bitter reproaches at Konami and her mother, 
repudiating the match with her own son unless 
he receives the wedding gift of H ouzo's 
head. To such despair are Hondo's wife 
and daughter driven that they contemplate 
death, the daughter by her mothers hand, 
and the mother by suicide. The tableau 
on page 240 shows Knnami kneeling, with a 
prayer on her lips, to receive the stroke of the 
sword from her mother, represented by the 

Frmn a Photograph. 

wife casts 

by Google 

actor, Sawamura Gennosuke, standing behind 
her. At this point in the action the women 
are interrupted by the advent of Honzo, 
Rikiya, and Yuranosuke. 

As I have said, the story of "Chiushin- 
gura " is founded on actual fact The real 
tragedy was worked out in the years 1701 and 
1702, under the government of the Shogun 
Tukugawa lyetsuna. The injured nobleman, 
called Yenya Takasada in the play, was 
actually Asa no Takumi ; his faithful chief 
councillor was not called Ot 10 bos hi Yurano 

suke, but Ohoishi 
Kuranosuke ; and the 
villain, called Moro- 
nao in the play, was 
Kira Kodsuke Yoshi 
fusa, who met his 
death in the manner 
the story tells in the 
winter of i 702. The 
tombs of Kuranosuke 
and his loyal followers 
are still to be seen in 
the burial ground of 
the temple Senkakuji, 
The rest of the 
photographs show 
scenes wholly uncon 
nected with the play 
of the u Chiushin- 
gura," First, we have 
a tableau representing 
K u m a ga y e N aoza n e, 
a famous warrior of the 
Middle Ages, describ- 
ing his battles to his 
wife, and next is a 
scene in the comedy 
" Shirikiya." The 
central actor, as the 
label by his side tells 
us, is Ichizo, in the 
comic character ot 

Probably the first of these chrysanthemum 
figures to be made out of Japan were two 
made but a few months ago in England by 
the gardener of Messrs. Yamanaka and Co., of 
127, New Bond Street, in whose window they 
were displayed for some time. Only English 
chrysanthemums were available, none of the 
smaller variety being on hand, but a very 
creditable pair of figures was produced of a 
a_c 3 r 1 playing with a child, the harmony of 
colours in the dresses being very charming. 
One of these is reproduced above by Messrs 
Yamanaka's permission. 

Original from 



Illustrated oy Ernest Prater. 

HE colonel shut his field- 
glasses with a click* and 
turned on his heel with a 
disheartened shrug of the 
shoulders. His eyes ached 
with the fruitless search for 
any sign of human life in the 
great plain which stretched before him, 
Rocky hills rose on three sides of the 
little settlement of Haynes' Drift, and made 
of the place an almost impregnable strong 
hold. In front the cguntry was open, although 
broken up by countless ravines and small 

" It's impossible to get a clear view," said 
the colonel, fretfully. " He may be within a 
quarter of a mile of us, bidden by one of 
those confounded humps, or he may be 
miles away. Why can't the young fool stay 
in camp ? n 

"Where's your respect for Royalty, sir?' 1 
asked Chetwynd, with a laugh. He was 
leaning against the galvanized- iron wall of the 
hospital, in company with his brother sub- 
altern, Benton. 

The colonel swore under his breath, deeply 
and comprehensively. 

" Why on earth do they want to send him 
here?" he demanded. "Haven't I got 
enough to ihjnk of, without being appointed 
bear-leader to this precious cub of a prince? 
Oh, he's right enough himself 1 He's a 
plucky boy and would be only too pleased 
to see a bit of fighting, if 1 dared to let him. 
But I should get into nice hot water at home 
if he had so much as a finger scratched — 
why, I believe he's related to every reigning 
family in Europe ! And now he's gone off 
again, and I sha'n't have a mormnrs peace 
until I see him safely back. Who's with 

"Only Pender and an orderly, I believe," 
answered Benton. 

by Google 

" Well, there is no help for it. You two 
youngsters will have to play nursemaid again 
and fetch him in. It will be dark in another 
hour or two, and he does not know the 
country as you do," 

The two subalterns straightened them- 
selves and prepared to start* 

"Very well, sir,'' said Chetwynd, saluting. 
" And — don't worry. We'll bring him home, 
safe and sound, within half an hour/' 

As soon as they were out of earshot of the 
colonel, Benton broke forth into loud com- 
plaints. What the junior officers at Haynes' 
Drift irreverently termed "fetching little 
Willie home " was an amusement which had 
begun to pall. The care of Prince William 
of Mannheim had made the colonel tho- 
roughly nervous, and the whole regiment 
suffered for his jumpiness. 

Chetwynd strode along in silence : possibly 
he realized better than his companion that 
the chief had real cause for anxiety. A Zulu 
impi had been reported to be in the neigh- 
bourhood only that morning, and although 
the garrison at Haynes 7 Drift had seen and 
heard nothing of the enemy, it was quite 
possible that stragglers, or even a consider- 
able number, might be concealed among the 
uneven n esses of the plain. 

Benton grumbled unceasingly. He was 
a fair, good-looking young fellow, with a 
pleasant, weak face, and a character more 
or less to correspond. Bodily and mentally 
he was a great contrast to Chetwynd, with 
his out thrust, masterful chin and deep-set 
eyes. A tenacious man this, with a good 
deal of the bulldog in his composition, 

"Oh, come along, Benton!" he said, 
impatiently, interrupting the other's flow of 
eloquence, " What's the good of so much 
talk? We'd better hurry up and find the 
boy and not waste our breath/ 1 

" I expect he's picking flowers somewhere 

Original from 



or other," growled Benton. " I'm sick of the 

" It's all in the day's work," remarked 
Chetwynd, tritely and philosophically. " And, 
after all, if we happen on him in a tight hole 
and do a gallant rescue — well, our fortunes 
would he made, my boy. The man who did 
the job would be marked for promotion — and 
you never know your luck." 

In order to cover the ground more 
thoroughly Chetwynd and Benton soon 
separated and set off in opposite directions. 
They arranged to communicate with each 
other at intervals by means of a code of 
whistles, which should report success, failure, 
or the need of help. 

Chetwynd made his way round the flank of 
a precipitous hill some ten minutes later, 
devoutly trusting that they might soon come 
to the end of their search. On the farther 
side of the hill ran down a little rocky ravine, 
the dry bed of a torrent, and as he entered 
this valley the sound of a struggle came to 
his ears, and he realized that his prayer had 
been answered in grim earnest. 

A steep rock barred the end of the ravine, 
and against this three white men had made 
a stand against a dozen or more of Zulus. 

One, whom Chetwynd recognized as the 
orderly, lay on his face motionless. Captain 
Pender, with his back against the rock, was 
beating off his assailants with his clubbed 
musket, the blood streaming down his face 
from a fearful wound in the forehead. The 
third man, Prince William, was huddled on 
the ground at Pender's feet, half hidden by 
the dark bodies of their dead enemies. 

Chetwynd set off at full speed. As he ran 
he blew three times the preconcerted signal 
which was to warn Benton that his comrade 
was in imminent need of help. He yelled 
encouragement to Pender, but it was too late 
to save him. When Chetwynd was only a 
few paces from the little group a Zulu spear 
pierced the captain's throat and he fell, with a 
gasping cry, across the pile of dead at his feet. 

At the same instant Chetwynd was on 
them. His revolver spoke twice, and at each 
shot a savage fell. He bestrode the Prince's 
prostrate body and waited for a further 

It did not come at once. The enemy 
were disheartened at the arrival of this new 
comer. Already eight of their number lay 
dead ; only five remained, and one of them 
was badly wounded. They drew back among 
the rocks and gave Chetwynd breathing 
time ; time, moreover, which might bring 
Benton at any moment to his support. 

by Google 

He dropped on his knee by the Prince, 
and thrust his left hand inside the boy's 
coat. Thank Heaven, he was not dead ! He 
had probably fainted from loss of blood, as 
there was an ugly wound in his thigh. 

Still Benton did not come ; possibly 
he was out of earshot. Chetwynd looked 
anxiously around. The Zulus had retired to 
a little distance. If it were possible he had 
better make for the open and try to reach 
the camp. It was only a short half mile 
away, and their sole safety lay in getting there 
before dark. He knew that the enemy would 
not dare to follow him within range of the 
garrison at Haynes* Drift. 

Chetwynd bent and lifted the unconscious 
boy in his arms. He was a big man, and the 
Prince was only a light-weight. Quickly and 
easily he strode down the valley, almost 
before the enemy had time to realize his 

As Chetwynd had expected, his movement 
was followed by a yell of fury. An assegai 
struck him in the shoulder and another 
glanced past his forehead. He set his teeth 
and strode on. If needs must, he would 
turn at bay again ; in the meantime every 
yard gained meant much, and at any moment 
Benton might come. The wounded boy in 
his arms stirred and moaned uneasily. His 
eyes half opened, but they looked devoid of 

There was a swift rush through the air 
behind them, and a spear pierced Chetwynd's 
back. He staggered and almost fell, but 
recovered his balance with an effort 

As he stood gathering his strength to ad- 
vance, Benton came running round the spur 
of the hill. 

Chetwynd could only gasp out: "Thank 
God you've come ! " His strength was ebbing 
very fast. 

At the sight of the new-comer the Zulus 
lost courage. Probably they expected that a 
regiment would follow him. They turned 
and fled, scrambling out of sight among the 

Chetwynd dragged himself a few paces 
farther. They were clear of the valley and 
had gained the shelter of a huge rock. The 
wounded man sank to his knees. 

" It's no good, Benton, I'm done," he said. 
u Take the boy and get back to the Drift — 
then come for me. For God's sake — go ! 
You can't carry me as well— don't risk his 
life— go ! " And he fell forward unconscious. 

Benton hesitated. It seemed a cowardly 
thing to leave Chetwynd, yet his duty was 
plain. He must take the Prince into safety. 

Original from 




v ;v' 

HE P£LI«" 

Hl' lifted the hoy in his arms and set out, 
slowly and with difficulty. 

He reached Haynes' Drift unmolested, 
but almost exhausted. He was surrounded 
by half the garrison in a moment, and a score 

by Google 

of willing hinds took his burden from him 
as he sank against the sandbag battlements. 

"Xo-I'm not hurt," he gasped. "Chet- 
wynd I had to leave him* lies wounded 

-vou must go for him. 

Original from 



In a few moments he had recovered suffi- 
ciently to direct the search-party to the place 
where he had left Chetwynd. They found 
him, still unconscious, as Benton had left 
him, and carried him back to safety. The 

The sight of the doctor just leaving the 
little hospital roused Benton from his moody 
thoughts. He went to meet him and in 
quired after the two patients. 

" The Prince's wound is not serious/' the 
doctor answered. "He lost a good deal of 
blood , hut he is in no danger whatever- But 
Chetwynd — ah, that's a different matter.' 1 

"He's badly hurt?" 

u Veiy, In fact, I'm afraid that there is 
hardly a chance of recovery. There are two 
most serious wounds ; either might well he 

Benton's concern at the news was perfectly 




party also brought in the bodies of Captain 
Pender and the orderly. 

At the time Benton had scarcely realized 
that the cheers and shouting were for him. 
When he first .struggled back to the camp he 
was too exhausted to take it in. It was not 
until later that it suddenly dawned upon him 
that everybody believed that it was he, and 
he alone, who had rescued the Prince* 

With the realization of the mistake came a 
bitter pang of regret— regret that the oppor- 
tunity had not been his + He remembered 
Chetwynd's words: "The man who did the 
job would be marked for promotion/' and he 
fcnew that he was jealous of his friend. 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 

genuine. It was only later, after the doctor 
had left him t that another thought crept into 
his mind. 

If Chetwynd must die, of what use would 
it be that he had saved the Prince's life? It 
would all be wasted — the sure promotion, the 
gratitude of the Royal relations towards the 
boy's rescuer. 

And everybody believed that he, Benton, 
had done this thing. They had taken it for 
granted. Of course , he must contradict them ; 
yet — need he? 

If Chetwynd died it could make no 
difference to him ; surely he would prefer 
that his deed should not go for nothing? 
Original from 




He need not say anything; all had accepted 
him without question as the Prince's rescuer. 

While his mind was still vacillating, Fate 
forced him to an instant decision. As he 
paced up and down the colonel met him, 
face to face, and greeted him warmly, holding 
out his hand. 

" I owe you a great deal — a great deal, 
Benton," he said. "You have done me, 
personally, a service which I shall not forget. 
It will be a good day's work for you, though, 
I fear, it has cost poor Chetwynd his life." 

" Is he dead ? " 

The other shook his head sadly. 

44 Not yet — but dying. Well, well, it is a 
good thing for you, and for all of us, that 
you succeeded where he failed. I must hear 
the particulars later." 

Benton stood half dazed, after the colonel 
left him. They all took his heroism for 
granted, and he had not contradicted them. 
It would be difficult to explain matters now, 
and Chetwynd was dying. Why should he 
say anything? 

The next day Benton was summoned to 
the bedside of the Prince, that the boy 
might personally thank him. Of course, the 
emotional gratitude of a foreigner is always 
embarrassing to an Englishman, and it seemed 
only natural to those who were present that 
Benton should be awkward and ill at ease. 
Indeed, he could scarcely be induced to 
speak of the affair to anyone, and if it 
was mentioned in his presence he appeared 
thoroughly discomposed. 

And, after all, Chetwynd did not die. He 
pulled through, contrary to all expectation ; 
and one day Benton found himself regretting 
it — regretting that his friend was at last out 
of danger. 

For a moment the boy loathed himself. 
Then self-interest came in and swallowed up 
all other thoughts. If Chetwynd recovered, 
what would happen to him ? 

The weeks which followed were a long 
nightmare to Benton. He expected hourly 
to be confronted with Chetwynd's version of 
the affair. 

At last he came to a desperate resolve. 
He would see Chetwynd at the earliest 
possible opportunity, confess the state of 
the case, and throw himself on his mercy. 

The chance came sooner than Benton had 
expected. The morning after he had made 
his decision he received a message to say 
that Chetwynd particularly wished to see him. 

Benton had the grace to feel utterly ashamed 
of himself at this first meeting with the man 
whom he had wronged. 


Vol. xH.-25 

Chetwynd sat in a canvas chair by the 
window, propped up with cushions. He 
looked thin and pale, but his face was set 
into lines of more than its usual obstinacy. 
With* out-thrust chin he faced Benton, and 
his voice was very stern as he began, without 
any pretence of greeting : — 

" I want to know something, Benton. I 
have an idea that there is a misunderstanding. 
Who is supposed to have been the one to 
save Prince William — you or I ? " 

Benton hesitated ; he grew deadly white 
and then crimson. Chetwynd never shifted 
his eyes from the boy's face, and his lips set 
into harder curves. 

" I should like an answer — when you are 
quite ready," he said, icily. 

Benton forced himself to speak. 

" I think, as you say, there has been a 
misunderstanding," he stammered. " It— it 
is believed that it was I." 

" So I judged. And who is responsible 
for this misunderstanding ? " 

" In the beginning — I brought him back, 
you know— and I was pretty well done 
up. The Prince was unconscious, and you — 
you were supposed to be dying. They all 
believed it was me — the Prince and every- 

" Including yourself ? " 

" No, no, of course not ; but — they said 
you could not possibly recover " 

" So you thought it an excellent opportunity 
to steal from a man the credit due to him 
— as he could not possibly recover. I see ! " 

Benton writhed. 

"They all believed it was me," he repeated, 
impotently. "And it seemed such waste, 
the promotion and everything, if you died. 
It was only a mistake at first, on my honour." 

" Your honour ! " 

There was a pause before Chetwynd spoke 
again grimly. 

" What is the next proceeding to be ? 
Shall I tell the truth or will you ? " 

A heavy silence followed ; then Benton 
answered, low and thickly : — 

" Do you realize what it will mean to me, 
Chetwynd, if I explain ? '' 


"It will spell ruin— nothing less. As 
things are I am certain of promotion — the 
Prince has promised to look after my inter- 
ests. But — but — if I confess " 

"If !" 

" What will be said of me ? I should have 
to leave the Army." 

"It would not be much loss— to the 




"But you— you would be where you were 
before, if nothing was said." 

Chetwynd leant forward in his chair and 
stared, half incredulously, at Benton. 

"You mean— do I understand you to 
suggest ih at things should be left as they are 
— that you should gain all the advantage of 
something which I did^ and I alone? You 
must confess it is asking a good deal of me." 

Benton broke out in desperation. 

"Oh, lor Heaven's sake, Chetwynd, won't 
you help me a little ? w 

"By keeping silent? No* By Heaven, I 
won't. I shall tell the truth at once," 

The boy turned a white, wretched face 
upon Chetwynd. He had the look of a 
trapped rat. 

u And if you tell the truth — who will believe 

Chetwynd's brows contracted and a terrible 
look came into his eyes, but he forced him- 
self tu speak calmly. 

M You mean that you intend to stick to 
your lie ? " 

Benton glanced from left to rights as if 
seeking a way of escape, and answered almost 
inaudibly: " Yes/' 

Chetwynd half rose from his chair. 

"You contemptible hound!" he said, low 
and fiercely. " l)o you suppose— — " 

C( I suppose that my word will be believed 
as soon as yours." Benton spoke more boldly 
now. " You've got no proof, remember. The 
Prince was unconscious, and I was the one 
to bring him into camp. They will say, at 
the best, that >ou were delirious; and at the 
worst — well, you can imagine what will be 

Chetwynd sat scowling in gloomy thought. 
Furiously angry as he was, he was too clear- 
headed not to realize his own impotence. 

Physically also he felt at an utter disad- 
vantage. If he had only been well he would 
have shaken the trutli out of the young liar 


jy G-. Original from 





At last he spoke, slowly and grimly. 

"So be it, then. For the moment you 
have the advantage, but wait — wait. Some 
day I shall he able to produce a proof which 
will show the truth of my story. Until then 
things may rest as they are, but — when that 
proof is in my hands you may depend upon 
it that I shall not spare you." 

Benton shivered as Chetwynd spoke, coldly 
and pitilessly ; then he plucked up courage. 
After all, what further proof could there be, 
now or ever? He turned to go, but paused 
in the doorway. Chetwynd lay back ex- 
hausted, his face drawn and white, his eyes 
closed. A pang of remorse made Benton 
stammer out: "Chetwynd, I am sorry " 

The other man sat upright once more, his 
deep set eyes steely and pitiless. 

"There is a limit to what I can stand from 
you, Benton " 

Without another word Benton left him. 

It was more than a year later that the 
woman came into the story. She entered 
Chetwynd's life when she stepped timidly 
into a South-Eastern railway carriage, where 
he was already established. 

Chetwynd's recovery had been long and 
slow. The war had been over and done 
with before he was himself again. He looked 
an older and a harder man as he leant back 
in his corner of the carriage. , The long 
months of weary inaction had served to 
embitter him the more against Benton, and 
had only strengthened his longing for revenge 
when proof of the other's guilt should be 
available. The knowledge of Benton's grow- 
ing prosperity and success— success which by 
rights should have been his— only added fuel 
to his anger. 

It was in this mood that Chetwynd had 
accepted the invitation to a house-party, 
where the most important guest was to be 
Prince William of Mannheim. He knew 
that Benton was to be there also, and the 
knowledge gave him a grim sort of satis- 
faction. He could imagine that his presence 
would inflict a particular/ refined form of 
torture upon the yount* nan. 

As the train was on ;he point of departure 
the door of his carriage was flung open and a 
lady entered. 

Chetwynd looked up with a slight frown. 
He had hoped to have the compartment to 
himself. But his own features relaxed at 
sight of the deprecating expression upon the 
new-comer's face. 

She was a little old lady, well and yet 
plainly dressed. She had a singularly sweet, 

by Google 

kindly face, the features of which seemed 
oddly familiar to Chetwynd. Her first words 
disarmed opposition. 

" I am so sorry— you hoped to have the 
carriage 10 yourself, didn't you ? But the 
train is so full — and please smoke. Don't 
mind me ; I like it, so do not put out your 

The gentle, refined voice and confiding 
manner would have softened a harder man 
than Chetwynd. He disposed of her dress- 
ing-case and arranged her rugs with kindly 
solicitude, and they gradually fell into con- 
versation as though they had been old 
friends. It soon appeared that they were 
bound to the same house, and the discovery 
pleased them both. 

Suddenly the old lady leant forward, 
staring at the name on Chetwynd's bag. 

" You will think me very rude," she said ; 
"but 4 Chetwynd' — why, I do believe you 
are in my son's regiment. I thought I 
recognized you. Of course, I have seen your 
photograph. My name is Benton, and — I 
am right, an) I not ? " 

Chetwynd acquiesced gravely, after a 
moment's pause. So this was why he had 
known her face ! The likeness to her son 
was very strong. 

" I have always heard so much about you," 
Mrs. Benton continued. "But lately Tony 
has not mentioned you so often — you were 
invalided home, were you not, some months 

" Yes," answered Chetwynd. "I have seen 
very little of your son lately." 

" But vou have heard how well he is get- 
ting on ? " she asked eagerly, and, without 
pausing for a reply, she launched forth into 
an account of all Tony's doings. She told 
Chetwynd how he was to be married im- 
mediately to a girl whom he had loved for 
years, what charming letters he had received 
from all Prince William's Royal relatives, how 
his future seemed absolutely assured. 

"And all his success is owing to that for- 
tunate rescue," she concluded, proudly. 

Chetwynd could have laughed at the 
ironical absurdity of it all. To think that 
Benton's mother should be telling him all 
this — expecting his sympathy in her son's 
good fortune ! 

" So you can understand how proud I am 
of Tony. I think — perhaps it is wrong to 
say so- but I do think that if anything Ivap 
pened to him it would kill me. You see, he 
is my only child. When I see other mothers 
so often disappointed in their sons, it makes 
me so grateful for my own boy. Have you 

Original from 


r 9 6 


ever thought, Mr. Chetwynd, how dreadful it 
must be to be the mother of a bad man, to 
see one's little child grow into a thief, or a 
murderer, or a cheat " 

The train clanked into the station where 
they must alight. Mrs. Benton leant forward 
and rested her small gloved hand for a 
moment on Chetwynd's sleeve. 

"Thank you for listening to me so 
patiently," she said, gently. " It must have 
been very dull for you, but— but I think your 
own mother would have been pleased if she 
could have seen you." 

The memory of their last meeting was very 
present in the minds of both Chetwynd and 
Benton when they met that evening. 

When Chetwynd entered the drawing- 
room he saw Mrs. Benton and her son 
near the door. The old lady hastened 
towards him, and Benton was obliged to 
follow her. 

The two men greeted each other with cold 
politeness, but Chetwynd saw, half exultantly, 
the shame on the other's boyish face. 

There was no time for the exchange of 
more than a fe% words before dinner was 

It was not until much later in the evening 
that they were thrown together once more. 
Their host had made up a rubber of whist, 
and Chetwynd found himself placed at the 
same table as Prince William, with Benton as 
his partner. 

Kate was busy with Chetwynd's life that 
evening. It fell to him to deal, and, as he 
shuffled the cards, Prince William suddenly 
leant forward with a sharp exclamation and 
caught at his wrist. 

41 Where did you get that scar ? " he de- 
manded, eagerly. 

The other two men looked up. On the 
back of Chetwynd's hand was a very notice- 
able white seam, roughly V-shaped. 

44 1 will tell you why I ask," went on 'he 
Prince, speaking quickly and excitedly. 
44 You all know how Captain Benton here 
saved my life last year in Zululand. He will 
remember that he carried me into camp in 
a fainting condition, but I was not wholly 
unconscious all the time. I can dimly 
remember being carried along, and it seems 
to me that I saw upon the hand of the man 
who carried me a scar— exactly like this. Of 
course, I soon noticed that Captain Benton 
had no mark of the kind, and 1 put it down 
to mere feverish imagination ; but seeing this 
brought it back to my memory." 

Benton sat motionless, his eyes fixed on 
Chetwynd, his hands clenched on the edge of 

by L 



the table. Great drops of perspiration rose 
on his forehead as he waited. 

And Chetwynd ? 

Chetwynd listened in absolute silence to 
Prince William's speech. He had grasped 
the purport of what the young man was about 
to say from the first, and this had given him 
a few moments for consideration. 

In the beginning he was only conscious of 
triumph. This was the moment for which he 
had waited so long. The desired proof had 
been sent as though by a miracle. A word 
from him now, with the Prince's vague 
memories to support it, would reveal Benton 
as the liar and cheat that he was. Why, 
the boy sat there self- convicted, with that 
look of conscious guilt on his face. 

Yet — yet— the touch of the Prince's fingers 
on his wrist suddenly recalled to his mind the 
image of the little old lady who only that 
afternoon had laid her hand on his sleeve as 
she thanked him. 

Thanked him— and for what? For the 
interest which he had shown in her only son, 
that very white-faced boy who sat huddled 
opposite Chetwynd now, his agonized eyes 
scanning the face of the man who by a word 
could ruin his life. 

Still Chetwynd sat silent, a great conflict 
raging behind the mask of his face, and 
to Benton those waiting moments seemed 
eternities. • 

In reality, they were long enough to sur- 
prise Prince William slightly. He questioned 
Chetwynd again eagerly. 

44 Will you tell me how and when you got 
that scar ? " 

And then Chetwynd answered lightly, and 
with a short laugh : — 

44 Why, certainly, your Royal Highness. I 
only hesitated because I was sorry to dispel 
your little romance — to tell you the prosaic 
truth. As a matter of fact, I have only had 
this scar for about six months, and it was 
caused by the explosion of a soda-water 
siphon. I am sorry that it is all so unro- 
mantic ; but there it is ! " 

Prince William glanced up keenly, but 
Chetwynd's eyes met his so directly and 
honestly that they forbade doubt. After a 
little more desultory discussion the affair was 
dismissed as a curious optical illusion on the 
part of the Prince. 

An hour afterwards Chetwynd stood 
thoughtfully before his bedroom fire, gazing 
down at the glowing embers. He had hardly 
yet realized his own motives for his strange 
action when a soft knock at the door inter- 
rupted his meditations. 

Original from 




A moment later Benton stood before him, 
white-faced and trembling. The boy's voice 
was strangely hoarse when he spoke. 

*' Chetwynd— did you mean what you said 
to -night, or are you fonly playing with 
me? You swore when you had 

proof you would And you have 

it now— absolute proof!" 

Chetwynd looked at the young 
man gravely and sternly. 

11 1 meant what I said," he answered. 
"In spite of the proof, I shall take 

wynd. God knows I've no right to accept 
this sacrifice, but there are others — and 

you've saved me " He faltered and 

broke off 

" It is not me whom you have jj> thank," 


no further t action in the matter. You need 
not fear it t Benton/' 

A new light came into the boy's eyes — the 
light of hope. For a moment he could not 
speak. When he found his voice it was low 
and uneven, 

"It would be absurd to thank you, Chet- 



Chrfwynd spoke quietly. tl It is your mothe* 
who has saved you, unknown to herself. It 
rests with you to pay her back— you will 
know best in what way + And as far as I am 
concerned " — he paused, and then added, 
very gravely, "I rather think, Benton, that 
she has saved me, too." 

by Google 

Original from 



From a P fuft*tffra/ih lg R ft (lift*. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Ages. 

Mr. F. E. SMITH, K.C., M.R 

HEN a man makes a great 
reputation at the Bar and in 
the House of Commons, is 
known as the youngest King's 
Counsel and the youngest 
Bencher in England, and is 
still on the sunny side of forty, 

one is naturally led to 
think that he must have 
been exceptionally studi- 
ous as a hoy. It is T there- 
fore, something of a sur- 
prise to learn, bn his own 
confession, that Mr, 
Frederick Edwin Smith, 
K,C, M-l\, had no great 
liking for study in his early 
years. In those days, in- 
deed, Rugby football was 
tar more to his taste than 

Mr, F. E. Smith, who is 
the son of a Liverpool 
barrister, was born at 
Birkenhead in 1872. 
Educated at Birkenhead 
Grammar School and at 
Wad ham College, Oxford, 
it was not long before the 
name of "Smith of Wad- 
ham " began to be known 
beyond his college walls. He still maintained 
his early love for Rugby, and only missed his 
" Blue' J by reason of a broken arm, while he 
very quickly made a reputa- 
tion at the Oxford Union, of 
which he became President in 
1893, His careerist Oxford 
was a brilliant one, but, al- 
though he took a Fellowship 
at Merlon, the life of a (li don * 
was given up in favour of the 
Bar, to which he was called 
at the age of twenty-three* 

Success came quickly. He 
soon had a good practice in 
the Liverpool courts, though 
perhaps the case which first 
made his name really familiar 
to the man in the street was 
the trial of Goudie, the Liver- 
pool bank forger, whom he 
defended, Another action in 
which he took a very promi 

nent part was the Ogden tobacco case, which 
is said to have brought him a record number 
of briefs. As for the many cases with which 
he has been associated in recent years, are 
they not still fresh in the public mind? 

With such a rapidly-growing reputation it 
was, perhaps, inevitable that, sooner or later, 
his thoughts should turn 
in the direction of West- 
minster. He entered the 
political arena in the 
Liverpool district, where, 
of course, his name was 
one to conjure with, as 
candidate for the Scot- 
land Division, the strong- 
hold of Mr. T. 1\ 
O Connor. But he had 
no opportunity of testing 
his popularity at the 
poll, for, accepting an 
invitation to stand for 
the Walton Division, he 
won the seat in 1906, 
and has held it in the 
two subsequent elections. 
Thus began his Parlia- 
mentary connection with 
Liverpool, an associa- 
tion which, year by 
year, seems to gain in 
strength and constancy. 

For a maiden speech to be well received 
by the House of Commons is by no means 
unusual — the amenities of 
political life ensure as much 
— nor is it rare for a new 
member to make a deep 
impression with his first 
speech, for it is more often 
than not made upon some 
subject in which he has 
specialized. W r hat is excep- 
tional, however, is for a 
hitherto silent member 
suddenly to intervene in 
debate with a speech which 
at once causes him to be 
hailed as one of the rising 
hopes of his party. Yet 
this is what Mr. F, E 
Smith had the good for- 
rV;E 9- tune to do some four 


AGE 2» 
From 11 Photograph by J. Lancaster \ Chester. 

by IjOOglC 

f'r*rt/i a J'hotftprnph fty tittltinxm and 
Thompson, Liv£r)tool. 

much to 





delight of the Unionist side of the 

It was an occasion which will long remain 
in the memory of those who were present. 
Let it be recalled in the words of a well- 
known writer: — 

" It was late in the evening. The Chamber 
was crowded, for men were then new to their 
work and eager. Suddenly from the middle 
of the Opposition benches there rose a tall T 
sl!m 3 clean-shaven, and black-haired young 
man. At first no one heeded very much. 
He had a short, clipped, hasty manner of 
utterance which was not particularly attrac- 
tive. But there was personality about him T 

one of the mainstays of his party in the 
House, and beyond all question one of its 
most effective and fearless speakers. And 
not only at Westminster has his personality 
made its mark, During the recent General 
Election his services were more in demand 
on Unionist platforms throughout the country 
than those of any of his party with but 
two or three exceptions. If you want to 
see party enthusiasm at its best attend any 
meeting in or near Liverpool at which he is 
announced to speak. In his own con- 
stituency, indeed 1 his personal popularity is 
unbounded, and there are those whose 
prophetic vision foresees a Liverpool of the 


.flT^HlfcftJP Ma 

A(1K [6 

AC,K 21. 
Prum « I*hoUn?mi*k bv Hill* & SaumUrtt Oxford.. 

even in his attitude — slightly bending for- 
ward, with his hands at his waist and his 
elbows akimbo, his long, pale face stuck out, 
suggestive of a man in a race, and his words 
rattling like hail Also there was a metallic 
touch in his tone which lifted his voice above 
the murmur of conversation* He said some- 
thing sarcastic which made those close to him 
give their attention. Then gradually the House 
settled down to listen. And Mr. F, E. Smith 
delivered the most brilliant maiden speech 
t hat has ever been heard in the House of 
Commons within memory. Some men work 
for years to achieve a Parliamentary reputa- 
tion, Mr Smith won his reputation in an 
hour/ 1 
Since that memorable evening he has been 

future standing by Mr. F, E« Smith through 
thick and thin with the staunchness with 
which Birmingham has remained true to 
Mr. Chamberlain. 

Mr, Smith is one of the tallest of our 
legislators, being over six feet in height He 
is fond of hunting and bridge ; has several 
volumes — legal and literary — standing to his 
credit ; and is a Territorial officer. He 
married, in 1901, a daughter of the Rev, FL 
Furneaux, Fellow of Corpus, and has one 
son and one daughter. 

So much for the past But what does the 
future hold in store for one who has already 
gone so far ? A seat in the next Conserva- 
tive Cabinet seems assured, but beyond this 
— who dare prophesy ? 

by Google 

Original from 

Tke Stage and the Drawing- Room. 

Some ^fell-Known Entertainers Relate Their Experiences. 

Prom a J J hoU^pa^k B-|F* 


N '"■ UK. JfflNH ••' ■- •■'■ ■"- 

Miss Margaret Cooper* 

CANNOT say that my early 
impressions of entertaining 
society in their private draw- 
ing rooms are particularly 
pleasant or cheerful. I can 
call to mind engagements at 
houses in remote suburbs at 
fees that often barely sufficed to pay my 
expenses, fulfilled sometimes under specially 
disagreeable conditions. Once I went to a 
house in Bayswater on a pouring wet and 
bitterly cold night ; a bus took me to the 

Vol. all -26 


top of the road where the house was situated, 
but I had to walk the rest of the way and 
arrived drenched, shivering, and but little 
in a mood to entertain anyone. I took a 
cab home, and during the drive did a series 
of sums in mental arithmetic and ascertained 
that I should be just one shilling and seven- 
pence to the good by the result of my 
evenings work after deducting all my ex- 
penses from the fee I had earned, This profit 
was T as a matter of fact, quickly converted 
into a loss ; a chill caught by sitting in rny 
wet clothef^iglrPS^^igg^ut me at least three 




It was not until after I had nude my 
appearance at the Palace Theatre that I 
secured my first big society engagement. It 
was at Lady Wtetmaii Pearson's house, and 
I remember the occasion very well I was 
very nervous when I entered the d ra wing- 
rot jm, which was crowded with well-known 
people, they were all 
laughing and talking, 
and as I made my 
way to the piano I 
began to wonder 
what on earth I 
should do if they 
did nut stop when I 
began to sing, As 
a matter of tact, 
directly I touched 
the piano the laugh 
ter and talk stopped 
and I performed lo 
a very apprecia- 
tive audience, 

1 nave found 
my drawing- 
room work ever 
since extremely 
interesting and 
like it i in 
mensely. It was a matter of some doubt 
with me at first whether the songs I sang on 
the stage would prove suitable for drawing- 
room purposes j but I soon ascertained that 
they did; in fact, I have found that the 
songs which have proved most popular with 
my theatre audiences (4 go' J the best in 
private. u Waltz Me Round Again, Willie," for 
example, is a very old favourite with my 
Palace audiences, and is always received well 
by drawing-room audiences, 

I remember when I was performing at 
a private house, where the King and Queen 
oF Spain were present as guests, His Majesty 
took a great fancy to this song. He did tiot 
quite understand some of the lines, hut 
Princess Henry of Pless, who was sitting next 
to the young monarch, acted as interpreter, 
and explained them, I sang the song, 1 think, 
four times that evening* 

It is absolutely essential, nowadays, for an 
artiste to make a reputation for herself either 
on the stage or concert platform before she 
can hope to secure private engagements, 
except at small entertainments and at 
wretched I v small fees. Great hosl esses will 
only engage people whose names are familiar 
to their l; lusts to entertain them. 

In my particular class of work the chief 
di fill cuky is to secure good songs* I have 

F*Qm if phntopwiph fty flamt .y'tudm*. Ltd, 

by GoOglC 

dozens sent in to me every week, hut I am 
lucky if I find one or two suitable for my 
purpose in a month. 

Mr, Bransby ^Villtamfl. 

Drawing room performances have, from 
the actor's point of view, their own special 
advantages and disad- 
v:ii!i .^es : ;ts regards the 
latter one is sometimes 
so close to one's audi- 
ence that the illusion 
which it is essential for 
an actor to create may 
be destroyed. I have 
done character pieces 
in chawing -rooms, but 
" making - up n whilst 
an interested group of 
spectators stand 
round you and 
keep up a run- 
^^ n ' n g commen- 
tary on your 
proceedings is a 
trying business. 
I have heard re- 
mark soft his sort 
whilst I was 
hurriedly making up as Fagin : "What on 
earth does he put on that for ? " " Isn't it quite 
remarkable how extraordinarily quick he is — 
like a conjurer almost" ; "This is really the 
part of the performance that interests me"; 
"Wish my man could dress me as quickly." It 
will probably be understood that when one has 
been inspected and criticized in this intimate 
fashion one's work is bound to suffer ; it is 
simply impossible to make the audience forget 
that the man they are listening to is the man 
that was just seen going through the interest- 
ing performance of disguising himself 

I went to a house once where, on my 
arrival, I was shown into a small back 
room (there was no fire in it, and the 
night was cold), and was told by a liveried 
gentleman to wait there until I was wanted 
"hupstairs/' I waited for at least half an 
hour, feeling all the while rather like some 
animal in a eagir on exhibition, and then 
came the summons to go "hupstairs*" The 
sight of the audience did not give me much 
encouragement, nor that of my host, who did 
not take the least notice of me; he merely 
gave me a look which seemed to say, " Now 
let me see what you are going to do for your 
money," I don't know whether he thought 
he had got good value or not, but my per- 
formance, at all events, was received in 
Original from 




dead silence, and I was then told to go 
downstairs again and wait. I asked a 
servant what exactly I was to wait for. I 
thought possibly it might be for supper, but 
no fear ; I was simply told to wait because I 
would be wanted to 341 ve another M turn-" I 
was a bit tired, however, of the waiting 
business by this time, so the next "turn" 
I did was to turn out uf the house and go 
home. Subsequently I heard that my host 
described me as 4 *a music-hall man who put 
on airs." 

On the other hand, I have been at many 
houses in a professional capacity where I 
have received as courteous and kindly a 
welcome as any of the guests. After a per- 
formance I gave at Sandringharn, where 
everything for my comfort was thought of 
and done. King Edward 
sent for me and congratu- 
lated me in the most kindly 
manner on 
my work — 
a sort of 
men I that 
no one can 
better than 
an actor, I 

have found my imitations 
of well known actors espe- 
cially pei [.Hilar 011 the 
drawing room stage. I re- 
member once giving such 
a performance where there 
was a very well-known and 
popular actor present, who 
suddenly declared that he 
did not feel well, and was 
about to leave the room 
when his host and a dts 
tinguisbed author seized 
hold of him\ " No, you 
don't," said the latter ; 
"your turn is soon coming, 
and you must wait for it" 
The luckless actor was 
then forced into a chair 
and held there by his 
host whilst I gave an 
imitation of his special 
mannerisms on the stage 
in a speech written by the 
author, who was also 
helping to keep the 
struggling actor quiet whilst 
the audience laughed them- 
selves hoarse. 

Mile. Add 



During my stage career I have frequently 
been asked to perform at pmate houses, but 
have only done so occasionally, for in the 
exercise of the dancer's art plenty of stage 
room h absolutely necessary, and in the 
ordinary private establishment this is not 
obtainable On the few occasions on which 
I have appeared professionally in private 
houses 1 have always had a stage specially 
constructed to suit my requirements, and 
where the house has been too small to 
allow of the sort of stage 1 require being 
elected I have not accepted the engage^ 
ment. It has, indeed, sometimes seemed to 
me rather remarkable that I should be asked 
to give a performance at some houses the 

owners of which must 
have known, if they 
ive any thought at 
to the matter, that 
would be absolutely 
npossible for a 
nicer to do so in 
le limited space 
which they were 
able to place at 
my disposal 

I was asked 

some few years 

ago to give a 

(jerformance at the 

house of a very 

wealthy lady\ and the 

In: she offered me 

was so large that I 

felt rather inclined to 

nrcept the engage- 

nt straight away ; 

it luckily, on second 

nmghts, I decided 

have a look at the 

mse first and see 

iw much stage- room 

should have. 

The house 
was a small one 
but exquisitely 
lurnished ; in- 
deed, it was- a 
perfect treasure 
house, contain- 
ing a wonderful 
collection of 
iy valuable works 
of art. The room, how- 
ever, where it was in- 


Fr^m a PhiAoffraf^bi/mmr Street Si^fg\ n ^\ f^flipded I should give 




my performance was really about a quarter 
the size of a drawing-room in an ordinary 
London house ; it was, in fact, a lady's boudoir, 
and a very beautiful one, but the idea of my 
giving a performance in it was simply absurd, 
so I at once declined to do so— much to the 
owner's disappointment. She did not seem 
to be able to under- 
stand how impossible 
it would be for an 
artiste to dance in so 
limited a space. 

Some years ago I 
danced at Chats worth, 
when the late King 
and Queen Alexandra 
were being entertained 
by the late Duke of 
Devonshire, There is 
a private theatn* at 
Chats worth and a 
well ■ arranged stage 
with every up-to-date 
requirement ; but it 
is, of course, smaller 
than a stage in an 
ordinary theatre. 
However, some tem- 
porary alterations were 
made in it to suit my 
purpose, and I selected 
a few dances that 
did not require much 

I went to Chats- 
worth in the afternoon 
to rehearse my dances, 
and whilst doing so I 
was informed that Queen Alexandra wished 
to speak to me. 

I found Her Majesty in the corridor 
leading to the theatre, and she talked to 
me for some time about my professional 
work, in which she expressed the greatest 
interest. Her gracious and kindly manner 
gave me great encouragement just at a 
moment when 1 was feeling rather doubtful 
about the likelihood of being able to please 
the distinguished audience before whom I 
had to appear thai evening. The per- 
formance was a great success, and I 
received a very cordial reception from the 
Royal visitors. 

As a general rule drawing room audiences 
are not enthusiastic- They are more inter- 
ested in each other than in the artiste 
who is seeking to amuse them, and to 
perform under such conditions is not a very 
pleasant sort of experience. 


by ^QOgle 

Mr. Arthur Prince, 

the Famous Ventriloquist. 

For choice I prefer to perform in a theatre, 
but of recent years the stage arrangements 
in most drawing-rooms have been mightily 
improved, and, except that perhaps occa- 
sionally one feels a 
bit cramped, one can 
get along all right at 
a private performance. 
My experiences of the 
drawing - room stage 
have been for the most 
part quite pleasant 
and sometimes rather 
diverting. I got an 
engagement once over 
the telephone to give 
a performance at a 
house in Berkeley 
Square. The owner 
of the house informed 
me he was entertain- 
ing a few friends, and 
asked me to come 
at nine o'clock. fcl I 
have got a man com- 
ing who says ventrilo- 
quists are a fraud, so 
I want him to hear 
you," he said, This 
in a way was flattering, 
and yet, again, it was 
not very pleasant in- 
telligence. If a man 
who thinks you are a 
fraud goes to a theatre 
to hear you, it does not much matter; but 
at a private performance he may become a 
nuisance and perhaps spoil your perform- 
ance, Anyway, I went to the house and 
found the party consisted of half-a-dozen 
jolly old bachelors; they disposed them- 
selves in comfortable chairs about me, whilst 
I sat down with "Jim" on my knees and 
began a preliminary conversation, making 
a few mild jokes to start with, wondering 
which of the six gentlemen considered me a 
fraud. Presently I noticed that the owner 
of the house was falling into a doze, which I 
considered rather bad manners on his part, 
and a bad example to his guests. I threw a 
snore in his direction— a tremendously loud 
snore it was- and then, turning to Jim, said : 
"Ha, ha! Jim, that gentleman is asleep, 
Now, how shall we wake him?" Everyone 
burst into a shout of laughter, and the host 
himself sU^djflgi ^fl^-, vehemently declared 





he had not been asleep, u I simply closed 
my eyes," he said. u You snored, 3 ' said Jim, 
and his guests laughingly corroborated the 
truth of the statement Then I threw 
another snore in his direction, which seemed 
to come straight through his nose. "Well, 
I'm hanged !' 3 he said, getting up and looking 
bluntly at me for a few moments before he 
sat down again. " Do you remember," he 
asked, "what I said to you over the telephone 
this morning?" " I do, J? I replied "Well, 
I am the man 1 told you about ; but I am 
converted, as far as you are concerned. Now 
go on ; only please don't make me snore 
again,' 7 And I had no need to; he kept 
wide awake for the rest of the evening. 

One usually meets at a private performance 
at least one person who wants to know exactly 
how to become a ventriloquist. One cannot 
give much information on the subjert off- 
hand ; and, even if 
one could, I doubt 
if one would. At 
an entertainment 
where I was assist- 
ing in Grosvenor 
Square, a short 
time back, one of 
the guests, a fat, 
elderly gentleman, 
was very anxious to 
know how on earth 
I made my voice 
"jump about/' as 
he phrased it. 
"Oh," I said, "it 
is easy enough. 
You just talk down 
into your stomach 
— it takes some 
practice to do it 
properly — but that 
is the secret of 
ventriloquism, "and 
for the rest of the 
even ing j whenever 
I caught sight of 
the old gentleman, 
he was making 
strange grimaces 
and curious facial 
contortions ; evi- 
dently he was de- 
termined not to 
lose any time about acquiring the ventri- 
loquist's art. In case any readers of this 
magazine should be disposed to do likewise, 
let me say at imce that, unless you are a 
born ventriloquist, you can only acquire a 


Vol xLi -33. 


very limited amount of skill in the art even 
by the most constant practice. 

Mile. Yvctte Guilbert. 

An actress's environment must to a certain 
extent influence her work. It is easier to act 
on a stage in a properly managed theatre 
than in a drawing-room, easier in a drawing- 
room than a barn ; but at the same time I do 
not think an actress's art should be dependent 
on its setting, except to a very limited extent 
She should forget it, though it may not be so 
easy to do so when acting in a drawing-room 
and so very close to one's audience, as one 
must necessarily be in a room, The real 
difficulty about playing in a drawing-room to 
my mind is that one must reduce one's acting 
to proper scale; one's movements must be 
finer and "smaller" as it were* A move- 
ment, for examplej which in a theatre would 

achieve just the 
effect that one 
wanted would in 
a drawing - room 
look absurdly ex- 

Some years ago 
I accepted a private 
engagement in 
London. It was, 
I think, the first 
time I had done 
so. Among the 
songs I was to sing 
was one in which 
I raised both my 
hands quickly to 
my shoulders in the 
second verse. Now, 
when I was on the 
stage, this move- 
ment appeared to 
the audience to be 
a scarcely percep- 
tible motion, just 
to emphasize a 
certain line. My 
manager, however, 
called my attention 
to the fact that it 
would appear a 
rather violent 
movement in a 
drawing-room, and 
look rather ridiculous, a thing I had never 
thought of; the motion with my hands 
which I alluded to was necessary, but it 
was sufficient for my purpose in the draw- 
ing-voomI)bkfHlyiltfrai(fec them. Whilst tlm 



From a Ph*du^rt.ftk. 

necessity for restricting ones movements 
is occasionally rather trying, one can some 
times achieve really finer effects on the 
drawing-room stage than in a theatre, where 
they would lie lost. Personally I have always 
found private audiences most appreciative. 

I heard of a very clever amateur actress 
who was regarded as quite a genius, and so 
far as acting in 
a drawing-room 
was concerned I 
believe she was, 
hut she was a 
failure on the 
stage, for the 
simple reason 
that all those deli- 
cate little effects 
she was able to 
achieve in a room 
were quite lost 
on the audience 
in a big theatre, 
and somehow she 
could not enlarge 

My first per 
formance on a 
drawing- room stage was at the house of Mrs. 
O^den Gillette at Caen, at which the late 
King — then, of course. Prince of Wales — 
was present. This was some years before 
I came to England, After my performance I 
was presented to His Majesty, who said 
I ought to come to England, where I would 
he sure to get well received. "Ah, sir," I 
answered, (( if you would come to see me 
1 would be sure of success," I remember 
so well how the Prince smiled and said, so 
pleasantly, 4[ Oh, we shall see; we shall 
see/* I came to England some years later, 
and met King Edward shortly afterwards at 
a dinner-party at the late Sir Arthur Sullivan's 
house. His Majesty recollected me at once, 
and said he was very glad to see I had taken 
his advice, 

Mr, Albert Cnevalier. 

I fear I have not much to say in 
favour of drawing-room performances for 
professional actors. The fact is, 1 am 
wedded to the opinion that the only proper 
place for an actor to interest, amuse, enter- 
tain, edify, instruct, or bore his audience is 
on the stage in a theatre. In a drawing- 
room an actor cannot hope to practise his 
art to the best advantage. He is too close 
to and too intimate with his audience. I 
have performed at many private houses, 

Digitized by L.OOGK 

where I have enjoyed myself immensely and 
where the audiences were kind enough to say 
that they did likewise, but on these occasions 
I always felt rather like a fish out of water. 
An actor is bound to feel "cramped 1 when 
he performs in a private room. He must of 
necessity render a part on what I may call a 
reduced scale ; he feels hampered, restricted, 

and confined in 
every movement, 
and in an at mo 
sphere entirely 
inimical to the 
rendering of his 
art. I have one 
specially dis- 
agreeable recol- 
lection f a 
drawing - room 
performance. It 
was at the house 
of a well known 
member of the 
House of Lords. 
Some Royal per- 
sonages were to 
be present i the 
affair was to be 
what I believe is usually described in the Press 
as an important social function, and I dare 
say it was, but personally 1 have the most 
disagreeable recollections of it. To start 
with, I was kept at the hall door fur nigh 
fifteen minutes — and the night was cold — 
before I managed to get into the house. I 
always stipulated, by the way, whenever 
I agreed to give performances at a private 
house, that I should have a dressing-room. 
In this instance a comfortable dressing room 
was provided for me right enough* but it was 
situated at the end of a long passage leading 
to the stage ; I was informed, however, by 
a servant that the passage would be reserved 
exclusively for my use* Imagine my horror, 
then, when I emerged from my room made 
up as an old yokel in decayed corduroys 
and a dirty smock- frock, preparatory to 
singing * IJ E Can't Take a Roise Out of Oi," 
to find the passage full of guests, who had 
invaded it on purpose to get a near glimpse 
of the " funny man.' ! } made my way to the 
stage through the laughing, chattering crowd, 
furious but helpless, and I have never per 
formed before such an ill-mannered audience 
before or since. They kept laughing and 
talking the whole time I was singing. When 
the Royal guests arrived things improved, 
but I was excessively thankful when my part 
in this social fu net inn >vas over, 




Of course, as I said, I have had many 
pleasant evenings in a professional capacity 
at private houses, but, all the same, I much 
prefer to stick to legitimate work. 

Miss Helen Mar, 

the Society Story-Teller. 

My experiences of entertaining society 
have been for the most part entirely pleasant, 
My special work is telling short stories, and I 
find it frightfully difficult to get hold o( good 
anecdotes, and am in a continual state of 
begging, borrowing, stealing, clipping, alter- 
ing* and improving anecdotes of all sorts 
that are likely to suit my purpose, It 
is, of course, often impassible to say whether 
a story will "go' 1 or not; if it doesn't, 
I simply drop it and forget it as soon as 
possible ; and if it proves popular, I tell 
it until I find people are getting tired of 
it. But a really good anecdote will bear 
a lot of repetition — at least, such is my 

I find it a good plan to begin with some- 
thing very short, it gets your audience's 
attention. This sort of thing, for example. 
Several men were 
once giving their 
opinion about 
women. One man 
was silent, but 
when urged to say 
something he said, 
"Well, women, in 
my opinion, gener- 
ally speaking, are 
— ge n eral 1 y speak - 

Sometimes I 
have inadvertently 
offended the sus- 
ceptibilities u f 
some of my audi- 
ence. I gave the 
following little 
verse once as an 
encore : — 

Little giains uf 

Little dabs of 

Make & woman's 

Look a& if they 


A lady came up 

to me after my 

performance and 



said, " I suppose, Miss Mar, you con- 
sider those lines clever! 1 think they are 
in very bad taste. Perhaps you think 1 
paint ? " I was sure of it, but 1 had not 
even seen her in the audience, and had 
great difficulty in persuading her that the 
lines contained no reference to her or 
anyone else. 

It has been my good fortune to have 
told stories on several occasions before the 
Royal Family, The late King enjoyed a 
good story immensely; His Majesty, how 
ever, liked an anecdote to be short and 
very much to the point. On one occasion I 
remember telling a story in a drawing-room 
when King Edward was sitting on a sofa with 
the hostess within a few yards of me. I am 
sure His Majesty saw the point of the 
anecdote at once, but pretended he did not. 
Anyway, he did not laugh, but listened to 
the explanation of the joke from the lady 
sitting by him. He then laughed quite 
heartily, but I have an idea that His Majesty 
laughed as much at the explanation as at 
the story itself. 

Once I told a story before the Princess 
Louise. Just as I began it I remembered 

that the King's 
name was men- 
tioned in it, and was 
doubtful as to the 
propriety of telling 
it before a member 
of the Royal 
Family ; however, 
it was too late then 
to alter the story, 
and I had to go 
on. It seemed to 
amuse the Prin- 
cess very much. 
The story is a 
chestnut, but it 
always goes well 
It is the story of 
a man who had a 
musical-box put in 
his bathroom, and 
afterwards com- 
plained to a friend 
that the "plaguy 
thing" would only 
play u God Save the 
King," and that in 
consequence he had 
to stand up in his 
bath the whole time 
he was in it r 

by Google 

Original from 



d Pendant. 



^ Drawings by REN£ 


H E announcement of Mr. 
Arthur Wilbur's return to 
1 England after ten years' al> 
sence in India appeared in 
the Morning Post of Wednes- 
day. On Thursday morning 
Wilbur received two letters — 

one in a lady's handwriting, which he 

opened first. 

Dear Arthur (it ran), — If you have not forgotten 
the way to Warwick Street, do come and see me, I 
shall be at home after ihree uv morrow. You have, 
of course, heaps to tell me, and I have heaps to tell 
you, although you have shamelessly neglected your 
old friend, Nancy PfvKRIN, 

"Still Nancy Perrin," Wilbur murmured. 
He sighed as he opened the other letter, 
staring meditatively at the once familiar 
handwriting. Long ago he had tried, quite 
in vain, to transform his own somewhat 
crabbed style into the easy, flowing lines of 
Jack Orpington's g's and Ts and h's. He 
tried to remember when his friend had last 
written to him. Seven or eight years must 
have passed. He wondered whether Jack 
had changed as little as his handwriting, 
Jack was the sort of fellow who does not 
change. Easy-going, pleasure-loving, rather 
selfish he had been as boy and man. But 
always charming* Men and women— especi- 
ally women— admitted the charm, even when 
they spoke unkindly of th 

le charmer. 

Copyright; iyii, l>y H 

Wilbur read as follows : — 

My Dear Old bfcU,o\v t — I am delighted to 
learn that you are at home again + If you have no 
belter engagement, will you lunch w r ith me to-morrow 
at one-thirty at the Husk in? Fortune at last has 
Wen kind to me. I am passing rich on two thousand 
a year, which has come unexpectedly from a distant 
kinsman. I can marry, and I am about to do so. 
Von must act as best man. Send me a wire. — Yours, 

Wilbur dispatched two telegrams, pro- 
mising to be at the Buskin at one-thirty and 
in Warwick Street at three. 

Presently his face brightened, because he 
made certain that Jack Orpington, his pal at 
Harrow and Oxford, was going to marry 
Nancy Perrin, the woman to whom Jack had 
been engaged for more than ten years, 
Wilbur unlocked a rather battered desk and 
took from it a photograph of a pre posses sing 
young lady. The photograph was faded, 
and before it had been laid aside in a desk 
must have confronted ravaging suns. The 
edges bad been clipped to fit some particular 
frame. Wilbur stared at the smiling, youthful 
face, pursing up his lips and shaking his 
head. Then he growled out, " Nancy must 
have changed a lot." 

Then he began his breakfast, hut his 
thoughts were focused upon Nancy, who 
had waited patiently ; not upon Jack, who 
had taken everything and everybody with 
such agreeabQri^HftdEffc^lYd philosophy, 




<l I shall buy her a nice present," Wilbur 
muttered, as he attacked his bacon. He did 
not know that he had acquired the habit of 
speaking aloud whenever he was deeply 
moved. But he would have denied that he 
was deeply moved because of this approach- 
ing belated marriage. He told himself and 
others that he distrusted sentiment. Never- 
theless, pouring out his third cup of tea, he 
decided that a diamond ornament would be 
the real right thing to hang upon this romance. 
His oldest friend was about to marry the girl 
with whom Wilbur himself had dared to fall 
secretly in love. 

After breakfast he walked from his rooms 
to Bancock's in Bond Street, where he found 
a pendant of exquisite design with a four- 
leaved shamrock in the centre. He gasped 
when the price was mentioned. 
11 Only three guineas for that ? " 
"It's paste/' said the salesman, smilingly, 
*' Faith, hope, love, and luck." 

shop. If the gentleman cared to wait it could 
be sent for, Wilbur glanced at his watch, 
shaking his head. He hated waiting, because, 
perhaps, he had so often waited for things 
which had not come to him Moreover, the 
sight of resplendent ornaments, such as gallant 
men give to fair ladies, rather oppressed him, 

"Look here/' he said, in a slightly hesi- 
tating but pleasant way, ** I'll pay for the 
pendant with a cheque on a London bank. 
You can get my cheque cashed within a few 
minutes. Then I want you to send the 
pendant to a certain address, at a certain 

"With pleasure," 

" It must be delivered about three," 

" I can promise that, sir." 

Wilbur wrote out the cheque, and also 
Miss Perrin J s address, Then he went his way, 
still smiling, thinking of Nances face when 
she saw the pendant, His little plan effer- 
vesced gaily in his mind throughout that 
morning. He would have a taste — an after- 


u The same design in diamonds would be 
exactly right." 

" We have it in diamonds. fi 

"How much?" 

" Seventy guineas." 

"I'll take it" 

But, after an exasperating delay, it appeared 
that the diamond pendant was still in the work- 

VoL*li + ~27. 

by L^OOgle 

taste — of the particular beatitude which sets 
forth that it is more blessed to give than to 
receive. Faith, hope, love, and luck, cun- 
ningly fashioned into a four-leaved shamrock, 
would adorn a tender bosom. 

At one-thirty he entered the Buskin. Orping- 
ton received him effusively, overwhelming him 
with questions. Why had he exiled himself 
Original from 




for so long? Why had he not written? 
Wilbur answered slowly, trying to stem this 
torrent of words, trying also a more difficult 
task, to see Orpington as he was rather than 
what he appeared, a somewhat dissipated, 
coarsened man of middle age. All the time 
this thought buzzed in his head : — 

"This is Nancy's future husband." 

When the men shook hands in the hall of 
the club, Wilbur had murmured the usual 
vague congratulations, which Orpington had 
brushed aside with a genial — 

" Yes, yes, I'm jolly lucky. You'll weigh 
in as best man— eh ? " 

And when Wilbur nodded, wondering 
whether his painful blushes were visible to 
his old friend, the other had begun another 
fusillade of questions, hardly pausing for the 

They went in to luncheon. 

A meal, square to all winds of criticism, 
had been ordered ; and presently the wine 
butler presented an ancient bottle at rest in 
its wicker cradle. 

" Romance Conti, '89," said Orpington. 

44 I drink Nancy's health," said Wilbur. 

Orpington stared at him, flushed as red as 
the Burgundy, and said, in a thick voice : — 

" What on earth do you mean, my dear 
fellow ? Did you think I was going to marry 
Nancy Perrin ? " 

Wilbur nodded feebly. 

" Good Lord ! That was off long ago. 
Poor Nancy — why, she must be thirty-five." 

44 Thirty-three." 

" Didn't I write to you?" 

44 No." 

44 1 believe I did. Anyway, I'm going 
to marry Mollie Rockingham, Littlestone's 
youngest girl. Rather a dasher, as you'll 
admit when you see her." 

Wilbur got up. He was conscious that 
his hands were trembling, so he thrust them 
into his pockets. 

44 Sorry," he said, coolly enough, " but I've 
forgotten something. Can I use your tele- 
phone ? I'll be back in a jiffy." 

He hurried out of the dining-room, followed 
by the waiter whom Orpington had summoned 
to show the telephone to his guest. 

44 Always was a rum old bird," reflected 
Orpington, as he sipped the Romance. 

Wilbur rang up Bancock's. 

44 1 am Mr. Arthur Wilbur. I bought a 
diamond pendant this morning. Don't send 
it to the address I wrote down. Will call 
this afternoon." 

The answer came back : — 

44 Pendant already on its way." 

Digitized by GoOgle 

44 Thank you," said Wilbur. "It doesn't 

But, returning to the dining room, he told 
himself that it mattered horribly. Ridiculous 
and heart-disturbing explanations were inevit- 
able. With a groan he realized the full 
extent of his blunder, and the pain it must 
inflict upon the nicest woman he had ever 
known. His appetite for food had gone, but 
a raging thirst consumed him. He drank 
quite his share of the Romance, and a dock 
glass of Cockburn's '96 port. Orpington 
talked, genial as ever, about himself and his 
affairs. Wilbur thought of Nancy with the 
pendant in her hand, staring at the shamrock. 
He smoked a big cigar much too quickly, 
gulped down his coffee, and took leave of 
Orpington. Being habitually the most tem- 
perate of men, he was well aware that the 
wine had slightly affected him, and not 
unpleasantly. He reflected that Dutch 
courage might be better than none. 

A taxi bore him swiftly to Warwick Street, 
where an aged handmaiden opened the door. 

44 Bless me," she exclaimed, 44 it's Mr. 
Wilbur ! " 

44 How are you, Anne?" said Wilbur, 
holding out his hand. 44 And how is Miss 
Perrin ? " 

44 We're none of us as young as we used 
to be," said Anne, with finality. 4< Miss 
Nancy wasn't expecting you till three, sir. 
Nobody's at home. But you'll wait ? " 

44 I'll wait," said Wilbur. 

He followed her upstairs and into the 
prim and formal drawing-room. Nothing 
had changed, but everything had faded. He 
beheld Nancy's writing-table, recognizing 
each article upon it : the Dresden china 
shepherdess with black velvet skirt, which - 
served as a penwiper, the old-fashioned 
silver inkstand, the blotting-book of boule. 

Upon the top of two or three letters and 
a pamphlet lay a small white package, care- 
fully sealed. 

Anne vanished. Wilbur sat down, staring at 
the white package. Then he rose stealthily, 
hesitated, and swiftly slipped the package 
into his pocket. The red seal bore the name 
and address of the Bond Street firm. 

44 So far, so good," murmured Wilbur. 

Possibly the dock glass of port had dis- 
coloured normally clear wits. Possibly, also, 
Wilbur ought to have taken the faithful Anne 
into his confidence at once. It would have 
been so easy to explain matters to her. 
But, for the moment, he could only realize 
one glorious fact : the pendant was in his 
pocket, and therefore an appalling situation 

■_i 1 1 1 ti 1 1 1 ■_' 1 1 



21 1 

had been saved. He gloated over this, 
smiling complacently at a thin, red-brown 
face which he beheld in the glass through a 
pair of sparkling blue eyes, 

" I don't look a day older than forty," he 
reflected, with his fingers clutching the white 

A minute later Nancy came in. 

"I wanted something inordinately; a — 
well, a pearl of price that belonged to some- 
body else," 

He saw that he had puzzled her, but he 
dared not speak more plainly. Then she 
laughed with a certain sadness and derision. 

" Why do you laugh ? " he asked. 

She replied gravely : " Isn't it wiser ? * 


"SoyouVe come back?" she said, in her 
soft, delightful tones, 

11 Tve come back," Wilbur admitted 

" For good ? " 

" I shouldn't dare to affirm that yet." 

Decidedly Nancy had not changed as much 
as the carpet, which had been new just ten 
years before, 

"You went away very suddenly. Is it in- 
discreet to ask why ?" 

He evaded the question. 

Digitized by dOOgk 

" You used to laugh at me, I remember." 

"Never again! I laugh now at myself. 
Dear me ! 'Fen years ! n 

Abruptly she changed the talk, which 
became impersonal on its surface. Under- 
neath, each was sensible of an ever-increasing 
curiosity. She whispered to herself: "Does 
he know that his friend jilted me?" Wilbur 
reflected, with amazement ; " Fancy exchang- 
ing this sweet creature for a — dasher ! " 

Presently he srw scars. They revealed 




themselves gently but mercilessly, the faint 
lines about eyes and mouth. When she 
spoke or smiled they seemed to vanish, but 
in repose her face was eloquent of suffering 
patiently borne and conquered. He was 
hardly aware that the same lines lay upon his 
own sun-scorched face, and that they told the 
same story of fortitude and patience to the 
woman opposite. 

" I must go," he said, presently. " Perhaps 
your mother and you will dine with me, and 
do a play ? " 

" Perhaps you will lunch with us to-morrow 
and settle dates ? " 

" With pleasure." 

He perceived that she was really glad to 
see him, and this conviction obsessed him to 
the exclusion of other considerations. For 
instance, he forgot about the pendant. He 
had intended to speak to the faithful Anne ; 
had concocted, indeed, a plausible tale to 
account for the theft of his own property. 
But when Anne handed him his hat and 
umbrella he said, eagerly: " Miss Perrin looks 
younger and happier than I expected." 

Anne sniffed. 

" Ah ! If you'd seen her six years 
ago " 

He hurried away with the quickened step 
of a man who has a definite goal. So — she 
had been jilted six years before. In a word, 
he might have come back six years sooner — 
if he had known. How exasperating that he 
had not known ! 

He climbed on to a bus, and soon after- 
wards a stranger sat down beside him. 
Wilbur glanced at him indifferently, noting 
eyes set too closely together, and a large, 
carefully-trained moustache, which could not 
quite conceal a vicious mouth. The stranger, 
for his part, beheld a thin, wiry, absent- 
minded fellow-passenger, obviously a sojourner 
in tropical climes, and as obviously of a 
simple and guileless character. Presently 
the stranger noticed that Wilbur slipped his 
hand into his coat-pocket, and then smiled 
with unmistakable satisfaction. Later Wilbur 
lighted a cigarette, still smiling with absurd 
complacency; and the stranger took advan- 
tage of this opportunity to introduce an 
ungloved hand into Wilbur's pocket, and to 
examine with practised touch what he found 
there. As he did so a faint smile played 
hide-and-seek with an expression of grim 
determination. An instant later he, too, 
lighted a cigarette. 

As he did so Wilbur realized that he had 
been robbed of the pendant. And here 
again we must admit with reluctance that an 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 

absolutely sober Wilbur would have acted 
differently. This middle-aged man was intoxi- 
cated with love rather than with wine ; but 
it is, perhaps, impossible to over-estimate the 
mellowing influence of the best port and 
Burgundy. Wilbur saw that the thief's 
immaculate linen cuff was frayed; a patent 
leather boot exhibited a tiny crack. He 
forgot the vicious mouth and eyes set too 
furtively close. He shrank from haling this 
seedy gentleman before the law, and he 
realized humorously that the law might put 
awkward questions to himself. By this time 
the bus was rolling steadily through Victoria 
Street. The pickpocket shook the ash from 
his cigarette and rose. Wilbur rose also. 
They descended together and stood side by 
side upon the pavement. Very leisurely the 
pickpocket strolled down one of the side 
streets. Wilbur followed, quickened his step, 
and overtook his late companion. 

" A word with you," he said. 

The pickpocket glanced to right and left. 
The small street held no policeman and but 
few wayfarers. 

"You have a packet belonging to me," 
said Wilbur, in his hesitating voice. " I 
have reasons for not wishing to make a fuss. 
Give me back my property and go your way." 

The pickpocket acted with quickness and 
decision, but he might have acted even 
quicker had he known that he was dealing 
with a man who had shot tigers on foot in 
the jungles of Bengal. He let go his left — 
to use the language of the ring — with credit- 
able violence, but to his intense confounding 
was countered hard upon the ear. Lest 
worse might befall him he clinched, and 
when a policeman dashed round the corner 
displayed a pretty wit by gasping out, 
" Constable, I charge this man with attempt- 
ing to pick my pocket ! " 

" I charge him," said W T ilbur, " with 
actually picking mine." 

The policeman grinned, and Wilbur said, 
testily : — 

" You will find a small sealed box in his 

" He nearly grabbed my watch," said the 
chevalier d-industrie. " I know nothing of 
any box, except the one I have just received 
on the ear. Search me, if you like. Here is 
my card. I am Sir Henry Bartley, of the 

" The box is in his pocket," repeated 

"Absurd! Come, come, I have an im- 
portant appointment Constable, oblige me 
by running your fingers over me." 




The constable hesitated. He was young 
and zealous. But earlier in his career he had 
been censured for exhibiting too much zeal 
in dealing with an eccentric member of the 

appearance of hurry. Wilbur, however, 
noticed with a certain satisfaction that he 
rubbed his ear 

Upon arrival at the police-station Wilbur 
was confronted by a burly inspector, who 


" Sorry, sir, but you'd better both of you 
come along with me." 

At this moment, by the luck of things, 
Wilbur thrust his hand into his pocket His 
fingers closed about the small box* He 
stammered out : — 

"The box is, I find, in my pocket.' 1 

The policeman said, gruffly :— 

"It \% is it? Now, wot d'yer mean by 
this little game?" 

Wilbur hesitated. "He must have put it 
back when he saw you coming/' 

" Show me the box." 

The constable took it from Wilbur's hand 
and read the address. 

"Why, it ain't yours neither!" he ex* 
claimed. "Miss Perrin, Warwick Street. 
Was you taking this to her, may I harsk?" 

Wilbur, of course, should have said "Yes" 
promptly. Once more his hesitation betrayed 

"Not — er — exactly. I can explain." 

"You'll have to explain at the station. 
You come along with me. Having your 
haddress, Sir T Enry, well send for you if 

The impersonator of baronets laughed 
pleasantly, and walked away, without any 

Digitized by Ci* 

listened civilly enough to his story. At the 
end he said, with official curtness : — 

"You say that you are Mr* Arthur Wilbur, 
recently returned from India* and that you 
to day bought a pendant at Bancock's in 
Bond Street. I will telephone to them at 

"Good!" said Wilbur. 

" I take it, sir, that you intended to deliver 
this pendant to the lady to whom it is ad- 
dressed ? " 

For the third time Wilbur hesitated 
Then he said, with a shade of nervousness : 
" You may take it t inspector, that it was my 
intention to deliver the pendant to the lady 
whose address is on the box," 

"Although Victoria Street is rather out of 
the way." 

Wilbur made no reply, and the inspector 
rang up the famous firm. His questions 
were obvious enough, but the replies to 
them, inaudible to Wilbur, seemed to have 
an odd effect on the inspector. Hanging up 
the receiver, he turned with a grim smile to 

" This packet/' he said, portentously, "was 
delivered in Warwick Street at two-thirty 
to day bj one of the clerks. The servant 
Original from 




to whom it was entrusted placed it on 
her mistress's desk. And it has since dis- 

"Oh ! " Wilbur exclaimed, feebly, 

11 1 shall now ring up Miss Perrin/ 5 

" Hold hard," said Wilbur,, desperately, 
" I'll admit that 1 stole it." 

'* Bought it and stole it ? " 

" Yes/' 

"That sounds strange. You must bring 
evidence that you did buy it." 

11 They can identify me at Bancock V 

" Unfortunately, the junior partner, who 
happened to serve you, has left town. He 
won't be back till Monday. You heard 
me ask if they could identify you. They 
replied, * No + " J 

" My bankers " 

"Banks close at three/ 1 

"The clerk at my hotel- 

u But why not Miss Perrin? If you were 
making her a valuable present, she must be 
able to give us some account of you." 

Wilbur said savagely, "You can keep me 
here till my bank opens to-morrow," 

Miss Perrin upon a matter of great im- 
portance. Nancy descended to a small room 
behind the dining-room* A tall, frock-coated 
young man bowed, and held out a white 

" I regret/* he said, suavely, " that a blunder 
was made by one of our junior clerks, A 
paste pendant was delivered here at half-past 
two this afternoon. This diamond pendant 
should have been delivered instead. May 
I ask you to return me the other ?" 

" A pendant ? " repeated Nancy. w 1 have 
seen no pendant." 

"It was left here, madam." 

Nancy rang the bell To her amazement, 
Anne corroborated the astonishing statement. 
Anne remembered receiving a small white 
sealed packet, which she had placed on the 
top of some letters on Miss Perrin's desk in 
t he d ra w i ng-roo m . D i s patched for t h e parcel, 
she returned breathless and dismayed, to 
announce that it was no longer there. 

"But who on earth," demanded Nancy, 
" would be likely to send me a diamond 
pendant ? " 


41 But we don't want to keep you here," 
replied the inspector. 

Meanwhile, excitement was raging furiously 
in Warwick Street. Hardly had Wilbur left 
the house, when Anne announced that a 
person from Messrs. Ban cock's desired to see 


The young man in the frock-coat main- 
tained a discreet silence. 

" Do you know the name of i he— the— — " 
" It was a gentleman," admitted the repre- 
sentative of Messrs. Bancock's ; "but I am 
not at liberty to mention his name. The 
point is," he added, quickly : "that the paste 
Original from 




ornament has disappeared. In the circum- 
stances, madam, 1 hardly feel justified in 
leaving this." 

" 1 don't want you to leave it," said Nancy, 
with slight irritation. " You must have been 
hoaxed," she added. " I assure you that 
nobody — nobody — could have bought a valu- 
able diamond pendant for me. The thing is 
absurd and impossible." 

" Unhappily, madam, there remains — or I 
should, perhaps, say, there does not remain — 
the paste substitute already sold to another 
customer, who was to have received it to-day." 

" It's somewhere, of course. We'll search 
and send it to you at once. Good afternoon." 

" Good afternoon, madam." 

With a deprecating smile, the frock-coated 
young man withdrew. Anne showed him 
out and then returned with heightened colour 
to Miss Perrin. 

" He looked at me," she said, acri- 
moniously, "as if he dared to think it was 
in my pocket." 

" We must find it," said Nancy. 

The fruitless search began, and was con- 
tinued with an ever-increasing sense of 
exasperation. Finally, Anne felt privileged 
to " pass a remark." 

" It's gone," she said, wiping a heated fore- 
head. "As miracles don't happen — least- 
ways, not in Warwick Street — somebody 
must have taken it ; and I can swear on the 
Book that nobody but you. and me, miss, 
and Mr. Wilbur have set foot in the droring- 

" Mr. Wilbur ! " repeated Nancy, faintly. 

" If it 'tisn't 'im, miss, it's either me or 

Nancy ordered tea. 

Drinking the blessed beverage, she was 
assailed by a thought too hideous for 
expression. Could Arthur Wilbur be a — 
kleptomaniac? He had confessed that he 
had left England because he coveted 
inordinately a pearl of price. She was 
sipping her third cup of tea when Anne 
appeared, even redder of countenance than 
when she had last left the room. 

" A policeman, miss, for you. Taxi wait- 
ing outside, too." 

Both women hurried downstairs. An 
imposing constable touched his helmet. 

" Matter of missing pendant," he observed. 
" We have the party in whose possession it 
was found. Would it be troubling you too 
much, miss, to come to the station with me 
now ? " 

"There's some mistake," faltered Nancy. 

" That's what he say6, miss." 

Digitized by LiOOQle 


" Mr. Arthur Wilbur. That's the name he 
gave us." 

"Then it is a mistake," said Nancy, 
hurriedly. " I have the greatest confidence 
in Mr. Wilbur." 

"Is it Mr. Wilbur, miss? That's what 
you're wanted for— identification." 

" I can do that," interrupted Anne. 

"Fetch me my hat, my gloves, and my 
jacket." Nancy turned to the constable. 
" I'll come with you at once," she murmured. 

On the way to the police-station the lady 
maintained a dignified silence ; but twice— so 
the constable noticed — she furtively dabbed 
at her eyes with a handkerchief rolled into 
a ball so as to escape notice. Trained powers 
of observation took note, however, that on 
stepping from the taxi Miss Perrin exhibited 
a decisive briskness of movement, and she 
carried her pretty chin at a less acute angle. 
The inspector received her courteously, indi- 
cating Wilbur with a wave of a large hand 

"Is this Mr. Arthur Wilbur?" he asked. 

" Certainly." 

" He affirms that he bought a pendant, 
ordered it to be sent to your house, and then 
stole it, for a reason which he does not choose 
to give to me." 

" Mr. Wilbur had a perfect right to steal 
his own property," said Miss Perrin, very 

The inspector looked dubious. 

" It ceased to be his property when he 
dispatched it sealed and addressed to you." 

" But I hadn't received it. Mr. Wilbur and 
I understand each other." 

" Then there is nothing more to be said, 

The inspector picked up the white parcel 
and looked at the man and the woman. 

" Give it to me," said Wilbur. He took 
it from the inspector and slipped it into his 
pocket. The inspector said, with a certain 
official stiffness : — 

" Sorry to have troubled you, sir, but you 
understand we can't afford to make mistakes." 

" Quite so," assented Wilbur. Then a 
slightly derisive smile played about his lips. 
" I don't suppose you do make many ? " 

The inspector expanded a forty-four-inch 

" We don't," he replied. 

" All the same," continued Wilbur, with a 
sharper inflection, " I think a mistake has 
been made about the other fellow. Would 
you oblige me by looking him up at the 
address on his card? The Albany, wasn't 

lt: Original from 




The inspector picked up the card, not 
quite so immaculate as a baronet's card 
should be, and nodded. 

"Sure to be on the 'phone?" suggested 

The inspector rang up the Albany, and 
asked if Sir Henry Bartley had returned 
home. The reply seemed to slightly upset 
him. As he replaced the receiver he coughed 

" Well ?" demanded Wilbur. 

"Sir Henry Bartley," replied the inspector, 
frigidly, "is, it seems, shooting in Uganda." 

"Ah!" murmured Wilbur, softly. 

Leaving the police-station he walked beside 
Nancy, searching for a right phrase. Presently 
he said, shyly : " Would you mind if we went 
into St. James's Park ? " 

"What for?" 

" Explanations." 

" Are they necessary ? " 

The tone of her voice struck him as 
curiously cold. 

" Absolutely," he replied, with conviction. 

They found an unoccupied bench. The 
warm rays of the sun fell slantingly upon 
other couples under the trees or reclining 
upon the grass. 

" Jolly to be alive," remarked Wilbur. 

" Sometimes," said Nancy, turning frown- 
ing eyes from a not too distant pair in the 
unabashed act of kissing each other. 

" It's like this," said Wilbur, desperately. 
" With your letter this morning came a letter 
from Jack Orpington, announcing the news 
of his inheritance and immediate marriage, 
and asking me to be best man. I put the 
two letters together and made one of 'em." 

" You thought Jack was marrying me ? " 

Wilbur warmed to his work. 

" I said to myself that it was an enchanting 
romance, and I wanted to say or do some- 
thing out of the common. Never was a hand 
at talk, but I saw a gilt-edged opportunity for 
action. I rushed off to Bancock's, and found 
there a pendant, a four-leaved clover design 
— faith, hope, love, and luck ! But in paste. 
They said they had the real thing in diamonds, 
and promised to deliver it at three. I wanted 
to see your face. Then, at luncheon, Jack 
told me that he was marrying Littlestone's 
girl. It nearly choked me. I 'phoned 
Bancock's within a minute, and, by the great 
god Pan, the pendant, so I was informed, 
was on its way to Warwick Street. I found 
it oxii your desk and slipped it into my pocket. 
Tl>6 rest you know." 

Then, to his amazement, Nancy burst into 
what seemed to be hysterical laughter. When 
she became articulate, Wilbur managed to 
understand her first words. 

11 Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Will you ever 
forgive me ? I must tell you. I thought you 
were a thief." 

"What ! You thought me a— thief ? " 

"A — kleptomaniac. You had said that 
you left England because you coveted in- 
ordinately — that was the word — a pearl of 
price, which belonged to somebody else," 

"So I did, but I say, Nancy, you 

believed me to be a thief ; then — by Jove ! — 
you tried to compound a felony for my 

" Don't talk nonsense. Didn't you tell 
some tarradiddles on my account? By the 
way, oughtn't we to return the stolen goods 
at once ? " 

Wilbur looked into her eyes, now quite 
soft again. 

" Thank you for the ' we.' " 

Nancy said demurely : " I should like to 
see Mollie Rockingham's face if you had 
sent a paste ornament to her." 

" She's got one already ? " 

" What do you mean ? " 

"I mean poor Jack. Look here, I've 
promised to be his best man, and I want to 
get out of it," 

"Out of a promise?" 

"If I should get married first, I should be 

" You are thinking of getting married?" 

" Provided the pearl of price I have coveted 
for eleven years will have me. Nancy, will 
you have me ? " 

Nancy turned her head. For the second 
time her eyes fell upon the amorous couple 
to the right. They were still kissing. Nancy 
smiled as she heard Wilbur's voice shaking 
with anxiety : — 

" Dear Nancy, have I rushed things ? " 

" N— n— no," she whispered. 

" Is it possible that you could ever care for 

"At any rate, I know the difference between 
paste and diamonds." 

" Nancy ! " 

" I have known it for six long years." 

" Six long years ! " 

" And I know, too, that the best diamonds 
come from India." 

She raised her soft eyes to his, and as they 
gazed at each other the marks of those six 
long years seemed to fade and vanish. 

by Google 

Original from 

i he Dickens Testimonial. 

An Interview ^Vitk Charles Dickens's Eldest Surviving Son. 
The Progress of the Testimonial. 

ORT V-FIVE years ago a keen, 
pleasant-faced man in a green 
velvet waistcoat might have 
been seen on the platform at 
Waterloo Station. At his side 
was a young fellow of twenty, 
his face flushed with emotion. 
" Good-bye, my boy, and God bless you," 

spoke the elder man. il Do your duty and 

keep up your pluck*" 

The young man thought of all ihe good 

times he had had 

with his father— of 

all the wonderful 

talks, and games, 

and journeys they 

had enjoyed together 

— he and the best, 

the kindest father in 

all the world— and 

tears sprang to his 

eyes. The two 

gripped hands again 

and the train 

steamed away ; and 

that night England 

— and London — 

and Rochester and 

Gad's Hill — were 

shut out for forty- 

five years while the 

you tig man worked 

and dreamed and 

hoped in the Aus- 
tralian bush. The 

elder man was 

Charles Dickens — 

the younger was his 

son, Alfred Tenny- 
son Dickens, godson of the Poet Laureate. 

From that hour the famous novelist be^an to 

labour as he had never laboured before. To 

make provision for his family became his 

ruling passion, *'God knows/' he wrote, tl it 

is not for myself, but for those I hold dear 

and who will come after me*" 

Forty-five years passed* And then one 

morning Alfred Tennyson Dickens, no longer 

young, but with white hair now, arrived in 

his native London and paid a visit to the 

offices of The Strand Ma^azjnk. 

" For a long time/ 1 he said, ll it seemed as 

if England and London could never be the 

VoL ,.i.- 2 9 

PftNM a Fhotegi-airA fry Lafaitttl*, Melbourne, 

same to me after my father's death. And 
indeed it is not the same, 

u When I was in Australia my father and I 
used to correspond with each other regularly. 
I remember receiving his last letter to me 
after I had heard the news of his death. 
In this letter, written only three weeks before 
his death, he wrote : ( You will doubtless 
have seen in many of the papers that the 
Queen is going to bestow all manner of 
titles and honours upon me, but you can take 

it from me per- 
sonally that during 
my life I shall re 
main as I sign 
myself at the end 
of the letter.' He 
signed himself plain 
' Charles Dickens/ " 
Since he uttered 
these words, Mr, 
Dickens has been 
travel 1 1 ng about 
England* He has 
been to the Ipswich 
and Hury St. 
Edmunds of Pick- 
wick ; lo the York- 
shire of Nickleby ; 
the Salisbury of 
Chuzzlewit; to 
Dover, and Broad- 
stairs, and Brighton, 
and Chatham ; and 
last of all to 
Rochester and Gad's 

" At Rochester 
the landlord of the 
Bull Inn, as soon as be knew I was coming, 
reserved for me the very room my father had 
slept in. Pickwick and Tupnian and Winkle 
and Snodgrass and Sam Welter had been 
very real to me from boyhood, and their 
spirits seemed to haunt the old inn. Then 
in the morning I went over to Gad's Hill, 
now occupied by a gentleman named Latham. 
What memories of my dear father and mother 
and brothers and sisters rushed in upon me ! 
I pointed out the very spot where the pic- 
tures used to hang on the walls : Frith's 
1 Dolly Varden ' here, 'Captain BobadiP 
there, and $< heffer's portrait and Maclise's. 




" I stood in the room where he used to 
write, overlooking the lawn. None of us 
ever dared to cross the lawn during pro- 
hibited hours, when my father was at work. 
But the moment he had thrown aside his 
pen, what a jolly father he was —ready for 
fun of every kind ! Then I went to visit the 
chalet which the actor Fechter gave him, and 
which is now in Lord Darnley's grounds, the 
Leather Bottle Inn, and all the spots associ- 
ated with my father. 

" Forty-five years ! Yes, much is changed ; 
but one thing I still find unchangeable 
wherever I go— it is the love, the personal 
affection in which the name of my father is 
held ; not merely by those who knew him — 
for these, alas, are grown very few — but by all 
classes of men, women, and children." 

The great movement for celebrating the 
centenary of the novelist grows apace. Soon 
after this number appears Charles Dickens, 
were he now alive, would be entering upon 
his hundredth year. 

As it was for his family Dickens strove so 
strenuously, so it is fitting that the tribute of 
Dickens - lovers throughout the universe 
should be paid to his family. 

Already some hundreds of thousands, in- 
cluding their Majesties King George and 
Queen Mary, Her Majesty Queen Alexandra 
(whose order for two hundred and fifty 
stamps was among the first received), 
H.R.H. the youthful Prince of Wales, and 
other members of the Royal Family, have 
purchased stamps to match the volumes in 
their possession. And in this connection a 
reader of The Strand reminds us that the 
late King's family were brought up to admire, 
to love, and to read Dickens. 

" Every Christmas-time at Sandringham, as 
I recall it many years ago,' 1 she writes, " the 
Royal children used to gather round to hear 
Princess Maud— known to her brothers and 
sisters as * Harrie ' — read the ' Christmas 
Carol/ and I know it was read very well 
indeed, so that there was not a dry eye 
among her auditors. I know, too, that King 
Edward and Queen Alexandra (then Prince 
and Princess of Wales) and their children 
never tired of Dickens, whose works they in 
turn were taught to love as children. So 
that I feel sure the Dickens Stamp, which 
His Majesty has publicly called an 'interest- 
ing and well-designed record of the great 
novelist,' will meet nowhere with a more 
cordial and sympathetic welcome than in the 
Royal homes of England and those members 
of our Royal Family abroad." 

In America, as was to be anticipated, the 
enthusiasm aroused over the Testimonial is 
genuine and widespread. Thus one Dickens- 
lover, who is also a millionaire — the Hon. 
John Wanamaker, ex-Postmaster-General of 
the United States, writes : — 

" The idea of printing an especially de- 
signed stamp, and of asking every Dickens- 
lover to purchase and place one of these 
stamps in each volume of Dickens which 
he or she possesses, is an appropriate 
and ought to be a practicable one. It 
should be a labour of love — this plan 
to commemorate fittingly an important 
anniversary, and to make good to the 
descendants of the novelist a debt which, 
unintentionally, yet undeniably, is owed as 
royalties for publications widely circulated 
without remuneration to the author or his 
heirs. For the laughs we have laughed and the 
tears we have shed let us interest each other 
in using to the full this opportunity to show 
our deep affection for the memory of the creator 
of Pickwick and so many other dear old 
friends in fiction^ and at the same time to 
help make life a better thing for those who 
would be nearest and dearest to the novelist 
tiff re he alive. ,} 

Similarly Mr. George B. McClellan, ex- 
Mayor of New York. 

" The work of Charles Dickens," he writes, 
" has received the reward which he would 
have valued most — the love of the millions 
who honour him as a counsellor and know him 
as a friend. But while we have sat at his feet 
we have not hesitated, willingly or unwillingly, 
to rob him and his of what was justly theirs. 
Although he would be the last to complain 
of the petty larceny of which he has been 
the victim, all of us who have been the 
unconscious accessories to the theft should 
rejoice at any opportunity to make resti- 
tution. Such an opportunity has been 
offered us in the excellent plan suggested by 
The Strand Magazine. As one of the 
many who owes to Charles Dickens more 
than he can ever repay, I welcome the 
possibility of adding my mite to the expression 
of the appreciation which the English-speak- 
ing world has for a great teacher." 

But we could not print one quarter of the 
written approbation we have received from 
distinguished men and women and dis- 
tinguished newspapers in Great Britain and 
America. It now only remains for every 
owner of a single copy of Charles Dickens's 
works to render the Centenary Tribute a 
success, and to buy at the nearest booksellers' 
or stationers' a Dickens Stamp. 

by LiOOglC 



F&r the Prize Competition see the ether side. 

Original from 



Our T)ickens 'Prize Competition. 


First Prize - £25 

Second Prize - - - - £10 

Third Prize - - - £5 

And Ten Prizes of £l each. 

THE picture on the preceding page shows some familiar 
Dickens Characters listening to the persuasions of an eloquent 
auctioneer, who is himself one of Dickens's best-known 
creations. The intention is that the reader should place one of 
the Dickens Stamps in the empty frame and thereby complete the 
picture. If he wishes to compete for one of the above prizes, he 
must send the picture thus completed to this office, together with a 
list of as many of the characters shown in it as he can identify, 
placed in what he considers to be their order of popularity, each 
reader making the list of his own favourites in order of preference. 
The whole number of competition papers will then be examined and 
a list of those characters obtaining the greatest number of votes will 
be made out, and the readers whose lists approach most nearly to this 
general consensus of opinion will obtain the prizes. Competitors 
may send in as many lists as they like, provided that each is accom- 
panied by a stamped picture. 

Having made out such a list, each competitor should sign it 
with his or her name and address, and, having placed a Dickens 
Stamp in the empty space on the other side of this page, the 
whole should then be sent, on or before the 28th of February, 
to The Strand Magazine, 3 to 13, Southampton Street, Strand, 
London, W.C. The words " Dickens Competition " should be 
plainly marked in the top left-hand corner of the envelope. 

The Editor's decision in all matters relating to this competition 
must be accepted as final. 

Another picture will be given next month with a different 
group of characters, when similar prizes will be offered to our readers. 


Clever Mr. Painter. 


Illustrated by Leslie Hunter. 

O far 

no such 
of the 


Colonel Toller's 

ran there had been 

day as the last one 

Spring Assizes at 

Coleworth Regis. Certainly 

there had been no weather 

like it at that season since he 
had been made chief constable of the county. 
Snow obscured the skylight of the ancient, 
gloomy court-room, and in spite of the crowd 
there the atmosphere grew chilly. Perhaps 
the last prisoner to be disposed of was less 
reluctant than he might otherwise have been 
not to be discharged without a character pr a 
penny into the obviously unfriendly streets 
of his native town. When Colonel Toller 
looked at his motor-car he fairly shivered. 

" Fifteen miles against this wind, eh ? " he 
said, as the sharp frozen snow blew into his 
face and almost cut his cheeks. 

Just as the Colonel, after a word with Jones, 
his chauffeur, was getting into the car an 
inspector of police came up to him. 

" Yes, yes, what is it ? " asked the Colonel, 
a little irritably. 

14 It's about Jack the Painter, sir," said 
Inspector Sibley. 

"Jack the Painter ! 
asked the Colonel. 

" Why, sir, the chap we thought had done 
the trick at the Grange ; him we nabbed for 
that other burglary in London," said Sibley. 

44 By Jove, I remember," said the Colonel ; 
"but what of him?" 

" He's out again, sir ; done three years and 
eight months. You said we were to be sure 
to tell you on account of those diamonds," 
said Sibley. 

" To be sure," said the Colonel. 

" Shall we put a special on at the Grange, 

11 I'll let you know, Sibley. He's not 
likely to rush them in a moment, especially in 
such weather as this," he said. 

" That's so, sir. But we'll never find 'em, 
I think," said Sibley, " for that Jack the 
Painter is a fair masterpiece." 

Digitized by t^-OOglC 

Well, who's he?" 

" A very clever fellow, I own," said the 
Colonel. " All right, Jones, let's get home." 

He remembered the day when he called 
early at the Grange, and found Mrs. Marsh 
in tears, and her son Tom, just back from 
Africa, in a tearing rage. The Colonel had 
driven over especially to see the young fellow, 
who had gone out to the Cape five years 
before on his father's death. 

11 Why, what's the matter, dear boy ? " 
asked the Colonel. 

" The diamonds, the diamonds!" said Mrs. 

" Good heavens, what diamonds ? " de- 
manded Toller. 

Tom was dancing all over the room. 

" Those I brought back ! They're gone. 
That chap stole 'em, I swear. They're all 
I've got, over five thousand pounds' worth," 
roared Tom Marsh. 

" What chap has got 'em ? " asked the 

" Come and see him," said Tom. " I've 
had him locked up in the tool-house." 

As they went out to interview the gentle- 
man in the tool-house Tom explained what 
had happened. 

14 He was outside on a ladder painting ; 
who else could it be ? I went out of my 
room, leaving the diamonds in a piece of 
paper on the dressing-table. I swear I wasn't 
away five minutes, and when 1 came back 
they were gone ! " 

11 Could no one else have taken them ? " 
asked the Colonel ; " one of the maids ? " 

" They weren't upstairs ; we accounted for 
'em," said Tom. " No, the blighter must 
have known something about me having 'em. 
He must have heard me leave the room and 
have shifted his ladder and put his hand 
in and raked 'em out." 

" It certainly looks like it," said the 
Colonel, as they came to the tool-house. 
Tom unlocked it, and they found the painter 
seated smoking on an upturned basket. He 
was a nondescript-looking little man, with a 
broken nose and a pair of exceedingly bright 




eyes, who appeared singularly at his ease. 
He talked with a Cockney twang. 

"I'll *ave the law of yer for false imprison- 
ment," said the painter. u I ain't got yer 
di'monds. I don't believe yer 'ad no 

" Come, come," said the Colonel, " don't 
be insolent/* 



11 'Oo are you?" asked the painter, 

11 I'm Colonel Toller, the chief constable," 
said Toller, 

"Then you don't need to be told that 
what you says will be used as evidence ag in 
yer," said the cheerful painter. " Come, nah f 
let me aht, and we'll say no more abaht it, 
I ain't the man to bear a grudge ag ? in anyone 
as 'as 'ad losses. I never was," 

" Lock him up again, Tom," said the 
Colonel : "the police must deal with him." 

They did deal with him, but in vain so far 
as the diamonds were concerned. Yet when 
he was discharged for want of evidence he 
was rearrested on another charge. It turned 

Digitized by Google 

out that he was a notorious burglar, and was 
known as Jack the Painter, He went up for 
four years, which was little consolation to 
Torn Marsh, who had several more years of 
hard labour before him in South Africa, 

u Yes, it was dashed hard lines on the lad," 
said Colonel Toller, as his car made a gale 
almost into a hurricane ; "dashed hard lines ! 

I believe those 
infernal diamonds 
are somewhere at 
the Grange to this 
day. The Fainter 
must have planted 
them somewhere. 
But where?" 

A dozen detec- 
tives, professional 
and amateur, had 
searched in vain 
for them. 

The snow blew 
level on the gale< 
Jones, the chauf- 
feur, groaned with 
cold and vexation* 
It was almost im- 
possible to see 
three yards ahead 
in some of the 
snow -flurries. 

"Those lamps 
don't give much 
light," said the 
Colonel, anxious- 
ly, and before 
Jones could open 
his mouth they 
saw the figure of 
a man right in 
front of them. The 
Colonel yelled at 
the top of his 
voice, and Jones put on the brakes just in 
time to prevent a tragedy, though certainly not 
in time to prevent something more resembling 
a comedy. The belated wayfarer gave a 
howl as the car skidded on the frozen road 
and struck him sideways with the rear mud- 
guard. He rolled cursing into the ditch at 
the edge of the road, and the Colonel 
jumped out of the car. 

" Owj you man-killer, you," said the 

" Are you hurt ? :i asked Colonel Toller 
" Naow, in course I ain't ; 'it by a man- 
killer and chucked right across the rowd," 
groaned the victim. "I believe both my 

let* bones is busted*" 
* Original from 




" Nonsense," said Toller ; " here, give me 
your hand and get out of that." 

"This will cost you five pounds, I can tell 
you," said the man in the ditch. u I wants 
your number so as I can ave the law of yer." 

"Where are you going?" asked the 

" Wherever I can," growled the other ; " I 
was bound for Brightwell." 

"I'm going through it. I'll drop you 
there," said the Colonel. 

" And wot abaht that five pounds ? " asked 
his guest. 

" Nothing about it," retorted the Colonel. 
" Til give you half a sovereign and a lift, or 
nothing and no lift." 

"Very well, I takes it," said his guest, 
almost cheerfully. " And cheap it is at the 

It really was cheap, and so Toller thought 
when he dropped his undesirable passenger 
in Brightwell. 

" On the whole we were well out of that, 
Jones," he said, as they came through 
Brightwell into the open country. 

But a few minutes later the car gave a 
grunt, ceased to fire, and then stopped dead 
in the middle of the road. 

" Five miles from home," said the Colonel, 
when they had tried in vain to bring the 
dead to life. Something had gone wrong, 
and what it was Jones declared he could not 
discover, even with the help of the lamp 
held by the freezing Colonel. 

" We'd better shove her off the road and 
into the hedge and walk," said the Colonel 
at last. " She'll take no harm here." 

11 D'ye mean walk 'ome, sir?" asked the 
chauffeur, who, like all connected with scien- 
tific locomotion, loathed .^oing back to Nature 
and his legs. "The Grange ain't half a mile 
from here, sir." 

" By Jove, so it isn't," said the Colonel, 
vigorously. " I never thought of that. And 
I have a message for Mrs. Marsh, now I 
think of it. If we can't get any farther, I 
can telephone home." 

And ten minutes later they found the old 
Grange hidden in a belt of trees. As the 
Colonel and Jones walked up the drive they 
heard in the lull of the screaming wind the 
old clock over the stables at the back strike 
half-past seven. 

"We'll invite ourselves to dinner, Jones," 
said the Colonel. 

Anticipation of hot soup inspired the 
Colonel ; he knew there would be an oak-log 
fire in the cosy hall, and a ready fire in an 
hospitable bedroom. Together with these 



delights, he saw Mrs. Marsh, grey-haired, 
humorous, benignant, a hostess as warm as 
they. Already, too, he heard in the hall 
happy laughter as he rang the bell. Though 
poor Tom, he who had lost the diamonds, 
was away on Afric's sands seeking others, 
there was his young sister at home and her 
eldest sister's child, a merry girl of twelve. 

" I beg for shelter, madam," said the 
gallant Colonel, as he shook hands with Mrs. 
Marsh ; " for shelter from the biting blast, for 
a crust and a cup of hot water, perhaps with 
something in it that goes not badly with 
sugar. May I have it ? " 

"You may," said Mrs. Marsh; " but, though 
we are glad to see so brave a mendicant in 
our ancestral halls, what brings you out on 
such a night ? " 

" Duty and the assizes and the natural 
malignity of matter, my dear Mrs. Marsh. 
In addition, my car broke down. My man 
is with me, too. By Jove, it's a night." 

Kitty Marsh and Daisy, her niece, came 
into the hall. 

"You'll stay to dinner and sleep the 
night here," said Mrs. Marsh. 

" Well, I'll stay if you will have me," he 
said. " I've something to tell you, too." 

And when the soup was on the table the 
Colonel told them what it was. 

"Jack the Painter's out of jail at last," he 

"Will he come here? Tom always said 
so. Poor Tom ! " said Mrs. Marsh. 

"Not on a night like this, though," said 
the Colonel. 

They mused a little. 

" Do you think the diamonds are still 
here, after all the search that was made ? " 
asked Kitty. "Haven't we looked every- 
where ? " 

" Except where he hid them," said the 

The Colonel told them of the tramp he 
had upset, and imitated his Cockney denun- 
ciations of the " man-killer " until Daisy 
screamed with laughter. 

" However, he really wasn't hurt, and I 
saved him a four-mile tramp, and gave him 
half a sovereign," said the Colonel. " I 
think he was rather lucky, on the whole," 

And then they played bridge till eleven 
o'clock, until Kitty remarked that it was very 
odd how many times diamonds had seemed 
to rule the fortunes of the game. So they 
gave up cards and talked again of Jack the 
Painter and the five uncut diamonds which 
had been lost. Mrs. Marsh explained that 
they looked like rather greasy quartz pebbles, 




For she was the only one in the house who 
had seen them the night before they were 

And then they all went up to bed. The 
Colonel was put in Tom's room, the very 
room from which the diamonds had dis- 
appeared, and he fell asleep and dreamed of 
running down tramps and killing them. And 
every time he killed one Jones laughed 
loudly and still more loudly. But at last 
they ran down three at once, and Jones was 
excited to such hideous merriment that the 
Colonel woke up and found that the wind 
was Jones, and was screaming with evil glee. 
As the Colonel sat up in bed he felt the 
house fairly tremble. Then he heard a 
scream from the opposite room and he 
jumped out of bed to listen. Opening the 
door he put his head outside, and presently 
saw Kitty in a dressing-gown coming from 
Daisy's room. 

" Halloa, my dear, what is it?" asked the 

"It's Daisy; the wind frightened her. 
She says she went to the window and 
looked out and saw a man," said Kitty, 

" Nonsense," said the Colonel. " It's as 
dark as the mind of a politician." 

" You see, we talked so much about Jack 
the Painter," urged Kitty. 

" Sorry I spoke," said the Colonel. " Now 
you go to bed, my dear, and take Daisy with 
you. If your friend comes I'm here to 
tackle him." 

Kitty laughed. 

" That's what Daisy says ; she's glad 
you're here, and I am too." 

She went into Daisy's room, and the 
Colonel, closing his door, went back to bed 

But he couldn't close his eyes now. The 
wind never ceased, though between the chief 
squalls there were lulls. He thought of 
everything that had happened that day. 

The human mind is a magic store of 
remembrance ; it is a witches' cauldron ; a 
lumber-house and museum ; a picture-gallery ; 
a case of gramophone records ; a dark room 
full of negatives, some undeveloped and 
some broken ; a menagerie ; and a mine. It 
works well and works ill ; it's like the wind 
and blows where it listeth ; the owner of it 
is owned by it ; it plays on him when he 
thinks to play on it. Truly the mind is a 
lucky-bag, a bran* pie, a lottery, a raffle ; 
and very suddenly the Colonel drew some- 
thing out of his bran-pie which made him 
fairly sit up in bed and gasp. 

Digilized by GoOgk 

" By the Lord," said the Colonel, " it was 
the very man himself ! " 

There was no one to ask him what man, 
so he told it to the fire as he jumped out of 
bed again. 

" That miserable tramp was actually Jack 
the Painter, or I'm a Dutchman." 

So his mind acted. It sent up to him the 
picture of the little painter seated on a basket 
in the tool -house, insolently and almost 
jovially wanting to know when he was to be 
let out, but it also recalled to him the 
Cockney accent, the very accent of the tramp 
upon the road. Certainly the voice had re- 
called something, or he had deceived himself. 
But now he was sure, absolutely sure, without 
any more evidence than the vague likeness of 
two voices heard at an interval of four years, 
or near it. 

" He was coming here ! " said Toller. 

Not a doubt of it, he seemed to tell his 
mind, when his mind told him. Without 
the shadow of a doubt the released convict 
was going to dig up the planted diamonds. 
Toller believed they must be planted in the 
ground. In a way he saw them there. He 
went to the fire and warmed his hands. 

Jack the Painter had been three years and 
eight months in jail. He had stuck it out, 
to use his own vernacular, that he knew 
nothing of those diamonds. Suppose he 
did know ! Then he owned five thousand 
pounds worth of jewels even as he served his 
term. How wonderful they would seem to 
such a man. 

Before he went back to bed the Colonel 
stirred the fire and made it burn brightly, 
and stood listening for a moment to the gale. 
It was coming towards its wildest, and played 
strange instruments in the whipped trees and 
in the roof of the Grange. And then 

"What's that?" asked Toller, halfway 
between the fireplace and the bed. 

The wind breathes or screams a thousand 
ways, but each sound is related to each ; 
it is a note in a scheme or a scale, 
a piece of wind music. And yet what the 
wakened sleeper heard was not of the nature 
of the wind. It came from overhead or from 
the outer wall. Yet overhead it could not 
be, unless it were on the roof, for the long 
and rambling Grange had but one storey over 
the ground floor. 

"Against the outer wall then," said the 
Colonel, as he stood. "Oh, is it " 

He stayed but a moment, and then ran 
alertly to the window and dragged aside the 
curtain. A finger on the cord of the blind 
and the blind shot upwards. The fire was 




burning brilliantly, 
and it seemed to 
Toller that it lighted 
up something that 
should not be out- 
side, something 
whitish, a grey blur 
and smudge upon 
the darkness, per- 
haps a face ! 

"Ah!" said Tol- 
ler, and his swift 
mind sprang at the 
truth, the solution 
of the unrelated 
noise. He threw 
up the window as 
he spoke, and the 
wind burst in like a 
torrent through a 
broken dam. Out 
side, within a foot 
or two of the win- 
dow, ha saw a 
ladder, saw a figure 
upon it with the 
blurred white face, 
and then suddenly 
the gale screamed 
at its highest fury 
in a squall that 
shook the Grange. 
It smote the house 
hard and smote the 
ladder, so that it 
slipped and slid. 
Toller saw it move, 
saw by the light of 
the fire the man's 
white face, his open 
dark mouth utter- 
ing a scream as the 

ladder fell and crashed upon the lawn. He 
leant out of the window in the flying snow 
and through its veil saw a dark patch upon 
the frozen grass, and heard a groan as the 
triumphant wind rode out of the hollow 
where the Grange stood and screamed upon 
the uplands, 

14 By Jupiter ! " said Toller. He slammed 
the window down, slipped a coat on, and ran 
into the passage, at the same time rousing 
the household. 

They lighted the lamp m the hall, and 
Toller and his man, taking any handy 
overcoat, went out into the frozen garden. 

The midnight marauder, breathing heavily, 
lay by the ladder. He moaned a little ; the 
Colonel ran his hands over him. 


"No bones broken, I think. Let's carry 
him in." 

They laid him on a rug in the hall with a 
pillow under his head, and as Jones stood up 
he made an exclamation. 

il What is Jt ? " asked the Colonel 

"It's the blighter we ran down, sir/' 
said Jones. 

11 To be sure," said Toller. 

By now the whole household was in the 
hall, eager, talking. The Colonel, feeling that 
he was in command, sent the servants to bed 
again. They went reluctantly. 

"The blighter's coming to } " said Jones, 

The gentleman on the rug groaned and 
muttered something. 




" What does he say, Jones ? " asked the 

"I thought he said *one of 'em,' sir," said 
the kneeling chauffeur. 

"Ah, did he, did he?" exclaimed the 


Colonel, in excitement. And Jack the 
Painter sighed heavily and opened his 
eyes. The next moment he closed them 

Yet his mind was evidently working. His 
right hand moved as if by some instinct. 
He put It into his right- hand {socket and 
sighed again , as if with satisfaction. Toller, 
hrndin^ miT him, said " Ah ! " again, and his 
eyes sparkled. The burglar withdrew his 
hand with something in it. Before Jones 
could move the Colonel stooped swiftly and 

- Digitized by UOOQ IC 

plucked a round pebble from Jack's hand. 
He held it up. 

" Oh, one of them ! " cried Mrs. Marsh. 
"Yes, an uncut diamond, I do believe," 
said Colonel Toller, excitedly. 

" J Ullo f B said 
Jack the Painter 
This time he 
opened his eyes 
and kept them 
open. "Where 
am I?" 

" H ere, my 
man," said the 
Colonel, as if he 
was giving this 
unexpected guest 
full information 
about everything. 

Jack tried to 
sit up, and with 
Jones's help at last 
succeeded. He 
stared about him 
in confusion, but 
at length fixed his 
brightening eyes 
upon the Colonel 
"Why, you're 
the man-killer," he 
said. " You giv* 
me J alf a thick-'un 
for running me 
dahn on the road ! 
But 'ow'd I come 

Even as he 
spoke intelligence 
came back to him. 
He put his hand 
in his pocket, and 
gloom settled for 
a moment on his 

" Robbed ag'in," 
he said ; " done 
in the eye once 
more — bilked and busted." 

He looked about him steadily for a moment 
and shook his head, as he turned back to the 

" Am I to go up ag'in ? " he asked, 
"It's my opinion you will," said Toller, 
"Luck's ag'in me," said Jack, with an air 
of almost cheerful resignation. 

"What are we going to do with him?" 
asked Toller* 

" Wotever you likes," said Jack. 
Eventually, Jones and the Colonel helped 




their prisoner to walk to the room over the 
stable. Jones undertook to see that he didn't 
escape. When Jack lay on the bed upstairs 
the Colonel stood over him. 

" Comfortable, eh ? " he asked, almost 

" So so," said Jack, 

"Ah, perhaps you'll tell us where the 
other diamonds are ? " he asked, holding up 
the one they had taken from him. And 
Jack shook his head. 

" Wot luck ! Run dahn by a bloomin' 
car, 'ove into a ditch, flung off a ladder, and 
robbed at the hend," he said. " Wot luck ! 
Was there ever such luck ? " 

" You won't tell me where the others 
are ? " said Toller. 

" If I says I don't know, you won't believe 
me," said Jack. 

" I can't," said Toller. 

"That's where you're miles off of it," 
retorted Jack. 

" Think it over," said the Colonel. " Look 
out that he doesn't escape, Jones." 

And Colonel Toller went back to bed 

At eight o'clock in the morning Colonel 
Toller came to see him and to give Jones a 
chance to get his breakfast. 

" Well, how are you ? " asked the Colonel. 

" Werry stiff," replied Jack ; " but then 
I'm tough." 

" You're a pretty cool customer," said 
Toller. " You'll go up again, my man ! " 

" Nah, sir, you don't mean to 'ave me 
in the jug ag'in arter me bein' 'urt, and in 
this 'ouse a 'ole night, and there bein' 
on'y one di'mond, which I was robbed of 
prompt?" asked Jack in an injured tone 
of voice. 

" What do you mean by saying there is 
only one diamond ? Are not the others where 
you put them ? " 

"S'elp me, not one more," replied Jack, in 
great excitement. " And do you mean you 
coves didn't find the others ? " 

" Certainly not," said the Colonel. 

" Then 'oo's got 'em ? That's what I want 
to know," said Jack. " It's 'ard to be done 
out of one's property by the rightful owners, 
but for some other cove to nab it, that's 'aid 

" Come, come," said Toller, impatiently, 
" where did you put them ? " 

"If Pm to be give up to the polis, I'm not 
lettin' on," said Jack, firmly. " Give me 
your honest word I ain't to be give up, and 
I'll do my level best to find 'em." 

"I'll think of it," said Toller. 

by Google 

"Take your time, sir," said Jack, cheer- 
fully ; " and nah I'd like some brekfuss." 

A servant brought him some, and while he 
was eating it the Colonel had his breakfast 
with Mrs. Marsh, Kitty, and Daisy. 

After breakfast the Colonel and Daisy 
came into the harness-room, where Jack 
was now sitting. 

"Well," said the former, "when are we 
coming to business ? Are you ready to try 
to find those diamonds ? " 

"Suttingly, sir," said Jack. "I dessay I 
could walk a bit now, with 'elp." 

Daisy helped him to rise. 

" Don't you think, Colonel Toller, that you 
had better give Mr. Painter your arm ? " she 
inquired, with a shade of reproach for the 
Colonel's lack of ready courtesy. 

" Oh, of course," said Toller, hastily ; and 
the next moment there might have been 
observed— as the dear old romances say — 
the astonishing sight of Colonel Toller, C.B., 
D.S.O., chief constable of the county, arm- 
in-arm with a notorious burglar who might 
have had the Distinguished Service Order in 
his own more dangerous profession. 

At this moment Jones returned with the 
derelict car, which had condescended to come 
to life again. He whistled joyously at the 
sight before him. 

" Quite pally, ain't they?" he observed to 
himself, with a chuckle. And as he drove 
to the stable-yard, followed by the Colonel 
and Daisy, Mrs. Marsh came into the garden. 
It was now a very fine morning — the first of 
spring, just as yesterday had been the last 
of belated winter. 

They came to where the ladder still lay on 
the grass. Jack pointed to the eaves. 

" I put them di'tponds there," he said, 
cheerfully. "Nah I'll tell you all abaht it," 
he went on. " I'd 'ad my eye on this 
'ouse to crack it a year before I came 'ere. 
For a Lambeth pal of mine wot give up 
the perfesshion on account of roomaticks 
give it away to me on shares if I pulled 
it off. And bein' wanted in tahn for 
another job I took an 'oliday and came 
down 'ere wiv my tools. And I got a 
casooal job paintin' and looked abaht a bit, 
and was goin' to crack this crib the very night 
of the mornm' I was led away into doin a 
job not thought'aht. For I 'eard the young 
gent say di'monds to you, ma'am, and 
di'monds is the best of sport. So paintin' 
outside of his room, which I knowed well, I 
'eard him go aht of it and shut the door. 
And bein' so 'andy, I thinks a look in 
can do no harm, and I steps on the sill 
Original from 



off of the ladder and ups 
And I sees them stories 
of blue paper on the dressing table 

wiv the winder 
in an open bit 

spots them as the shiners, 'avin' been 

South Africa myself. Then my instincks 
gets the better of me, and I nails 'em there 
and then and gets back and shuts the winder 

seemed. And there I was smilin', though 
now I repents of it, I do + And in less than 
? arf a mo' 'e comes aht and lets on I 'ad 
J era. So I says, 'Search me/ very indignant. 
And they searches me, J im and the gardener 
and locks me in the tool-'ouse, and the Colonel 
comes along and I cheeks the lot of you t 


And I knowed I'd little time to plant 'em, 
and relyin' on my natural instincks I did a 
real clever trick. Wiv my knife I breaks out 
a bit of plaster under the roof, and fill in' it 
wiv putty wot Td been using for the other 
winder, I jams the stones into that same 
putty, smooths it dahn and paints it over as 
easy and quiet as if I'd been a painter and 
no more than one all my days. And in less 
than two shakes of a lamb's tail I 'ears the 
young gent shout in* inside, fair mad, as it 


for which I begs pardin* But none of you 
got nothin 1 aht of me, and finally a blighter 
of a policeman knowed me by the bill that 
was aht for me in tahn. And that's the troof 
and the 'ole troof and notbin' but the troof, 
and I kisses the book on it, and I repents 
J ard of it, as I said." 

"You don't know what trouble you 
caused," said Mrs. Marsh, severely* 

In the meantime Toller reared the ladder 
against the wall and climbed up to see what 
Original from 




truth there was in Jack's statement. There 
was certainly a small cavity just under the 
eaves which might have contained the stones. 
Indeed, he found that the single diamond 
actually fitted into part of it very snugly, when 
he tried it there. From the general condition 
of the crevice it seemed to him tolerably 
certain that the others had been taken away 
before, if indeed they had ever been there. 

"Give you my word I put 'em there," said 
Jack, vehemently ; u, ow could I have 'ad time 
to plant one there and the others elsewhere ?" 

" Perhaps the painters who did the house 
last time took them," suggested Mrs. Marsh. 

" Naow," said Jack, " else why'd the silly 
coves leave the biggest ? My perfeshional 
opinion is that they warn't there at that time 
and they just painted the 'ole careless." 

" Well, where are they ? " demanded 

" That's wot we've to find aht," said Jack ; 
" so we'd better put our 'eads together and 
think it aht. I'm cocksure they warn't took, 
and if they warn't they fell dahn, if so be po 
bird came along and took 'em for plums. 
That stands to reason, don't it ? " 

" They might be just anywhere if they fell 
down," said Toller, shrugging his shoulders. 

" Anywbere's nowheres," retorted Jack. 
41 They're close 'andy or I'm a sneak thief, 
and I'd rather work than be that. Oh, much 
rather any day. Lemme think." 

While he thought, the Colonel and Mrs. 
Marsh gave it up and went into the house. 
But Daisy stuck close to Jack. He was, 
she thought, a most interesting man. 

"What are you looking at, Mr. Painter?" 
she asked, suddenly, seeing him staring hard 
at the roof. 

" Them," said Jack, pointing. 

" Oh, the dear swallows have come back," 
said Daisy. As a matter of ornithological 
fact they were not swallows, but house- 

" Do they build 'ere regular ? " asked Jack. 

"The dears come every year," said Daisy. 
"Granny and I love them." 

" Humph," said Jack ; "and did your old 
gardenin' cove love 'em ? " 

"Oh, no," replied Daisy; "he said they 
were nasty messy beasts." 

Two pairs of martins were already building. 
It was now the middle of April and they 
were tremendously busy, coming every 
moment to the eaves of the house with mud 
in their bills. Before the eyes of Jack and 
Daisy they laid the foundations of their 

" The ducky dears," said Daisy. 

Digitized by GGOgle 

" Blimy, oo'd 'ave thought it?" said Jack. 

" Thought what, Mr. Painter ? " she asked. 

But he shook his bullet head and appeared 
lost in thought. 

" Fetch Colonel Toller, if you'll be so 
good," said Jack, suddenly, as if he woke. 

" Well, my man," said the Colonel, return- 
ing, " what is it ? " 

"Swallers," said Jack; "you see 'em all 
a-building, sir?" 

" Yes," said Toller. 

" I'm a reasonin' bloke, always was," said 
Jack; "always thought things aht. Why 
work ? says I. And why not ? says I, and 
I puts the two together, and I says, very 
early, ' Work for yourself accordin' to the 
trade you was brought up to.' That's my 
way ; real solid reasonin'. Now, them 
swallers makes me think 'ard. See 'em, the 
pretty dears." 

Another pair of martins came to look for a 
site. They inspected, with approval, the very 
spot where Jack had hidden the diamonds. 
He grew much excited. 

"See 'em? — see 'em miss?" he exclaimed, 

" Did you ask me to come to see swallows?" 
asked the Colonel, impatiently, and Jack 
looked at him with bright, inscrutable eyes. 
They were full of intellectual contempt. 

"And me as good as tellin' you wot 
became of those di'monds," he said, slowly ; 
"as good as tellin' you. Where's the gar- 
denin' cove ? " 

He came round the corner at that moment 
with a cabbage in his hand, 

" Come here, Smith," said Daisy. 

" You let them birds build and rear their 
young 'uns, missy ? " said Jack. 

" Of course, Mr. Painter," replied Daisy. 

" Messy things," said Smith. 

"And when they've done you come and 
knock down their nests with a pole, and, 
'avin' knocked them nests dahn, wot would 
you do wiv 'em ? " 

Smith stared. 

" Do with 'em ? What should I do with 
'em ? " he demanded. 

"I'm askin'," said Jack; "you wouldn't 
make pies of 'em ! " 

"By Jove," exclaimed the Colonel, sud 
denly, as his eyes brightened. " I begin to 
understand. Come, Smith, what would you 
do with the remains of the nests ? " 

"Well, I'd 'eave the truck away, it bein' 
'ard lumps of mud," said Smith. 

" Yes, in course," said Jack ; " but where — 
where ? " 

" Oh, anywheres," returned Smith. 




"Anywhere, anywhere?" demanded the 
Colonel, almost dancing in his eagerness. 

" The nearest bed, miss," said the gardener, 
firmly fixed on answering Daisy rather than 
anyone else. 

"There ain't none 'andy this side of the 
'ouse," retorted Jack. 

"Then, miss, I'd 'eave it over the 'edge 
into the ditch," said Smith. 

Daisy turned with sparkling eyes to Jack 
and the Colonel. 

"Then— oh, then, they're " 

" In that ditch, missy, or I'm no reasonable 
tradesman," said Jack, with a solemn fervour. 
And Toller smote his thigh. 

"You mean, my man, that those birds 
built a nest there, and that when it was 
knocked down the diamonds came out with 
it, and that they and the broken nest were 
most likely put in the ditch ? " he asked. 

" Right-o," said Jack, " and if so be they 
ain't there my 'eart will be fair broke." 

"Oh, Mr. Painter, what a clever man you 
are," said Daisy. 

" Yus, I knows I am," replied Jack. " It's 
owned everywheres, and at Scotland Yard, 
too, that I'm a most uncommon blighter as 
on'y lacked 'igh eddication to be in the first 
flight. You 'ave that ditch scraped aht, sir." 

And scraped out it was. All hands were 
impressed for the purpose. Even Jones went 
at it, for the Colonel explained the burglar's 
theory, and even the honest men owned that 
the rogue was clever. 

All the greater was the fall in his stock 
when the closest scrutiny failed to find any- 
thing but ordinary gravel. His diamond 
diggings like most diggings proved a failure, 
and even Daisy at last gave up urging every- 
one to increased exertions, and went back to 
him with sympathy in her eyes. 

" Poor Mr. Painter," she said, and Jack 
shook his head. 

" Oh, I don't give it up yet," he said ; 
" not by a long chalk. There's somethin' 
else in this and they're somewhere's 'andy. 
I knows it, I knows it. It ain't the ditch I 
hangs on so much, but them there swallers. 
Wot I'm thinkin'of is the reward," said Jack. 

"What reward, Mr. Painter?" she asked, 

" That 'undred pounds that was offered for 
them as found 'em when I first 'id 'em up 
there," said Jack, eagerly. " I dessay you 
was too young to remember it." 

" I'll ask grandmother and Colonel Toller," 
she said, and ran off to them as they stood 
talking by the door. By now it was a warm 
spring afternoon ; that quick-change artist, 


the English climate, had performed yet 
another miracle. 

" Granny, dear, Mr. Painter is very much 
upset," she cried. " He's awfully cross at 
not getting the reward. He says it's a 
hundred pounds." 

Toller burst into laughter. 

" Daisy, your friend is a wonder," he said. 
He returned to the burglar, and as he did so 
Mr. Painter let a tremendous yell out of him. 
Whether it was from pain or pleasure it was 
hard to say. Probably it was both, for when 
pleasure made him jump up, pain made him 
sit down. 

" I've got it ! I've got it ! " yelled Jack, as 
they gathered round him; "and if I ain't 
right I gives up freely any claim I may 'ave 
to part of that reward." 

He rose from his seat with difficulty, and 
walked ten paces across the lawn, stopping 
just between the sunk ditch and window 
where the martins were at work. 

" This is turf, ain't it " ? he demanded. 

" Of course it is, Mr. Painter," said Daisy. 

"Well, them di'monds is under this turf, 
or call me a sneak thief," said Jack, steadily. 

And Colonel Toller laughed. Daisy put 
her hand on his arm. 

" Please don't laugh, Colonel Toller ; it's 
very serious," she said. 

" Yus, it is so," said Jack ; " and wot I 
wants to know is abaht that reward. Am 
I to get it ? " 

" Yes, Mr. Painter ; if you find the 
others you shall have it," said Mrs. Marsh. 
" But what do you mean by saying they are 
under the grass ? " 

" Dashed nonsense," said Toller. 

"I'll tell you, and then you'll see if it's 
dashed nonsense," said Jack. " Look at this 
round of turf. Ain't it a bit different from 
the rest ? I seed it was from over there 
with the light on it. Ain't it different ? Look 

They looked, and owned that it did seem 
a little different. 

" There used to be a bed 'ere," said Jack. 

" So there was," Mrs. Marsh exclaimed. 

" When the swallers' nests was knocked 
dahn, your gardener picked up the bits and 
'ove 'em into the old bed. What was in it, 
ma'am ? " 

" Rhododendrons," replied Mrs. Marsh. 

" Plenty of roots to 'em," said Jack. "When 
they was took up and put somewhere else, 
more earth was brought and the 'ole thing 
flatted dahn and turf put on top. 'Ave the 
turf up, ma'am ; 'ave the turf up." 

They set to work and cut the turf away in 





a circle, while Jack almost forgot his bruises 
and came near to dancing in his eagerness, 

" Ain't it queer to be demand-digging in a 
garding in England?" ho remarked, joyously. 

" Very wonderful," said Daisy, 

They began on the earth beneath the turf. 
AH but Mrs, Marsh went down on their 

Digitized by K*i 

knees and pulverized the hardened soil in 
their hands. And presently Daisy gave a 
little scream and held something up in her 

"Oh, is this one? ** she demanded. 

Jack took it from her, looked at it T and 
shook his h<ftdjna| from 




" No, miss, that's on'y a quartz pebble," he 

" I don't believe there ain't none 'ere," 
said the gardener, sulkily ; " and me as ought 
to be potting-out." 

" Gahn, you and your potting-aht," said 
Jack ; " is that a game in it with huntin' for 
di'monds ? " 

" Oh, oh," said Daisy ; " I've got one." 

She held up a round whitish stone, and 
Jack held out his hand for it. He cleaned 
it unceremoniously with his tongue and the 
sleeve of his coat. 

"What is it?" asked Toller, and Jack 
trembled visibly. 

" It's one o' them di'monds," he said, in 
an almost inaudible voice. 

" Good Mr. Painter," said Daisy. "Oh, 
isn't he clever ? " 

"Let me look at it, sir," said Smith, 
grumpily, and the Colonel passed it round. 

"That a di'mond? asked Smith, con- 

" Yus," said Jack ; "oh, don't I know it ? " 

" Then I don't think much of it," retorted 
Smith ; " why, I've got three 'ere just like it." 

"You — you blighted idjut," roared Jack; 
" where are they ? " 

And the outraged gardener produced them 
from the corner of the bed. 

" Blighted idjut, and 'im a jail - bird," 
spluttered Smith. 

"Hush, hush," said Daisy; "don't you 
dare say that." 

"Oh, never you mind the blighter, 
miss," said Jack, scornfully; "a brainless, 
unreasonin' cove like that will never be in 
quod for stealin* anythin' 'igher than cabbages. 
I scorn 'im." 

He rose to his feet and spoke to Mrs. 
Marsh with dignity. 

" There, ma'am, they're your di'monds ; 
you've got 'em all back. I own freely I 
took 'em and 'id 'em very clever. But findin' 
'em ag'in was equal clever, or more so, or 
I'm a liar." 

" Oh, it was awfully clever, Mr. Painter," 
said Daisy. 

"Thank you, miss," said Jack. "So, ma'am, 
I gives 'em back freely, not even grudgin' the 
one the gent robbed me of when I was 
knocked silly, which makes up the five." 

The Colonel felt inexpressibly mean ; it 
was as if he had been accused of robbing a 
blind beggar. 

" And nah abaht the reward," said Jack. 

" I've nothing to do with it," said the 
Colonel, hastily. 

" You leave it to me and the lady, sir," 

Digitized by dOOgle 

said Jack. " But before you goes, sir, might 
Mr. Jones drive me to the station, me bein' 
in an 'urry to get to tahn ? " 

"Oh, certainly, certainly, Mr. Painter," 
said the Colonel, who felt Daisy's eye on him ; 
" anything in the world to oblige you." 

Toller felt an insane impulse to shake 
hands with the burglar and say he hoped to 
see him at his club. There was something 
infinitely engaging in the man ; he was wise, 
simple, brilliant, childlike. 

"Not 'arf a bad bloke, that," said Mr. 
Painter, critically but kindly, when the 
Colonel was out of sight. "But, ma'am, 
he'd 'ave seen them swallers build for an 
'undred years and never 'ave put them and 
the di'monds togevver. No, nor no 'tec 
would 'ave done it neither." 

" It was indeed awfully clever," said Daisy. 

"Oh, miss, I'm known to be clever," said 
Jack, modestly, "and bar my eddication 
bein' neglected I'd 'ave been in the first 
flight. And nah abaht the reward, ma'am." 

He spoke like an honest tradesman asking 
for an early settlement, as he had to meet 
heavy expenses. Mrs. Marsh would not 
have been surprised if he had offered her two 
and a half per cent, discount for cash. 

" Very well," she said ; " I'll give you a 

"Oh, yus, ma'am, but 'oo'l cash it for 
me ? " he asked, doubtfully. 

" The Colonel's man can go to the bank 
with you," she said. And by request she 
made an open cheque payable to Mr. John 

" Are you going now to see your wife and 
family ? " asked Daisy. 

" Oh, yus, miss," said Jack ; " in course 
I am." 

" Would you like some flowers to take to 
them ? " she asked, and Mr. Painter expressed 
much joy at the notion. He smelt a basket 
of narcissus and jonquils with great and 
obvious pleasure. 

"Ah, miss," he said, " there's a deal to be 
said for livin' in the country if on'y it warn't 
so difficult to 'ide in it." 

" But having repented you'll give up the 
profession now ? " said Daisy. 

"Arter a real successful 'aul I might, I 
'opes," he replied, as the car came up to the 
door with Jones at the wheel. 

" You could get on at anything," said 
Daisy, " for you're so very, very clever." 

" Yus, miss, I know I am," said Jack, with 
a heavenly smile. 

So he was. Two of the five stones left in 
Mrs. Marsh's possession were quartz pebbles. 




a Photograph kg SHioti <t Frjr 

THE interesting discus* 
sion between Sir 
Hiram Maxim and 
Mr. j. N, Maskelyne 
here reaches its conclusion, 
In the first letter Sir Hiram 
Maxim expresses his opinion 
of Mr, Maskelyne's articles, 
and finally Mr. Maskclyne, 
having seen this letter, winds 
up the whole discussion. As 
to which of these two clever 
gentlemen has had the better 
of the argument, every reader 
come to his own decision. 

is free to 

Dkak Sjk, — I have read Mr + Mask dyne's very 
ingenious and beautifully -illustrated article with a 
great deal of interest* The pictures are certainly 
a great triumph in photo engraving and the letter- 
press all that could Jie desired. Considered as a piece 
of literature, it is a brilliant and unqualified success, 
but unfortunately it does not gratify my longing 1 I 
am still unable to account for Mr Fay*s tricks, and 
this longing cannot he satisfied with pictures, no 
matter how well they may lie executed. 1 have had 
something to do with exposing mediums myself, I 
certainly made a good job of the Tom so us. My 
system was new and very effective — exit Tomsons. 

Mr, Maskelyne has some funny remarks to make 
about my wonderful memory of forty -seven yeais ago. 
t am very sorry to admit it, but it is a fact fhal I can 
remember the events of fur ty -seven years ago with 
a clearness of detail far exceeding what I can remem- 
ber of events of only forty -seven hours ago. The 
fact is that my poor old brain has l>een gfting on 
recording the events of my life and the contents of 
the tons of books that I have read until all the cells 
are fully occupied. 

In regard to the cabinet, which Mr. Maskelyne 
ridicules on account of iis weight, 1 have said it was 
made of bass-wood, which is extremely light, having a 
specific gravity of about "jj, and there is no trouble 
at all in making a cabinet of the si^e I mentioned to- 
support the weight of three people, and still en me 

yr&m fi Photograph hjf Ktti&tt <t Frtl- 

inside eight)' pounds* Moreover, as 
the cabinet is very thin from front 
to back, "the two heavy people 1 ' 
were almost directly over the four 
supporting chairs, 

Although I had nothing to do 
with the selection of the rope or 
the tyin(j, Mr. Maskelyne has a 
lot of ridicule on that score. Quite 
true the bed -cord was of gieat 
length. The rigger commenced by 
tying Mr. Fay*s hands, first sepa* 
raiely, ihcn together with the 
middle of tin 1 mjH\ and I will 
admit it did lake some time 
to pass the long rope through the 
loops and form the knots, hut those who had 
the job in hand imagined that this would be an 
advantage, because they could tie the ends of the rope 
to the tiack legs of the chair, so as to get them com- 
pletely out of Mr. Fay's reach- However, this long 
rope was only used in the st-ance at Fitch burg, Mass. 
When Mr. Fay went to Boston and gave six seances 
in I he small hall of Tremont Temple, he still allowed 
investigators to select their own ropes and cords. 
These were of various sizes, and usually in short 
lengths ; in fact, Mr. Fay would allow them to tie 
him in any w r ay except with copper wires soldered 
together. Still, no matter how strongly and securely 
he was tied, no matter how thick and tight the net- 
work of cords might be, Mr* Kay, unassisted, and 
with a glass of water on his head, both Viands full of 
dry peas, and with the knots of the cords sealed, was 
able in one second of lime, after the doors were 
closed, to play several instruments all at the same 
time and it* show a ha^d thruugh a hole near the lop 
of the cabinet, Upon opening the door he was still 
found in his chair firmly lied, all ihe knots sealed, and 
the tall gohlet'of water siill on his bead* lie did this 
without dropping one pea on the floor — his hands 
were still tjuite full- The stage was brilliantly lighted, 
and the cabinet rested on four cane seat chairs. 
There were no trap -doors, and a I least half-a-dozen 
investigators were on the slage keeping a close 
wa'ch on the cabinet from all sides. ] low did he 
do it? 

In mv article of June last (page 694) will be found 
an illus'tratkinHJ n :Here we nnd little Mr. Fay seated 




between a gentleman and lady. There was just enough 
room in the cabinet for these three. Before they 
entered, the cabinet was lifted from the chairs, and 
estimated to weigh eighty pounds. In the presence of 
everybody in a strong light Mr. Fay entered the 
cabinet, and was followed by the gentleman and 
lady. It is very sure that no one else entered. 
It was in a new public hall, where there were 
no trap-doors. Mr, Fay was grasped firmly in the 
manner shown in the illustration, and still, instantly 
on closing the doors the instruments played, both the 
lady and gentleman received a kiss, and a hand was 
shown at the opening near the top of the cabinet. I 
am just longing to see this trick performed, first in 
the cabinet as I have described it, and then with the 
doors open. 

During the six evenings that Mr. Fay was in Boston 
practically all the conjurers in town were present. 
I knew some of them myself, and they all admitted 
at the end of the six evenings that they were quite 
unable to form any idea as to how the tricks were 

My article which appeared in the June number 
of The Strand Magazine was full and explicit, 
and brought me a large numl>er of letters from all 
over the world, including one from an old gentleman 
living in London, who informed me that he had 
assisted the Davenports and Mr. Fay and that my 
description was true in every particular. I had 
another letter from Mr. Fay's son, who is now living 
in Australia. He had shown my article to his father, 
and the father pronounced it correct, but admitted 
that it was all trickery. Not only this, but old Mr. 
Fay gave a seance in Australia recently, in which he 
performed the old tricks again with perfect success, 
and as witnesses he gives a large number of prominent 
names, which would seem to prove that Mr. Fay is 
not quite so dead as we thought him to be. The 
account of his death was evidently " greatly exagger- 
ated," as Mark Twain said. 

At the Bridgeport seance, referred to by Mr. 
Maskelyne, I went into the cabinet myself with the 
medium, and I am very sure that there was no one 
in the cabinet before the medium entered ; in fact, 
the chief detective was on the stage, and he as well 
as myself was sure that the cabinet was quite empty, 
and that no one entered except the medium, myself, 
and my assistant, who was a very tall and athletic 
young lady weighing about fourteen stone. Between 
us we held the medium— head, hand, and foot — with 
the grip of a vice. He was a small man, and we 
fairly boxed him in, so that he could neither escape 
nor move, and still, without stirring a hair, he per- 
formed all the tricks, just exactly as he would have 
done had we not been present. How did he do it ? 

These are the things that I am anxious to see done. 
So far I have been greatly disappointed. Mr. 
Maskelyne did a great deal to whet my appetite and 
to lead me on. I have been in a painful state 
of expectancy for a long time. The whole thing has 
been as exciting as setting a hen — I might say setting 

two hens — and I am afraid that it will bring on 
nervous prostration. If Mr. Maskelyne will express 
his regrets and apologize, it will do a lot to 
relieve the nervous tension. I have carried that 
twenty pounds so long in my pocket that it has 
actually worn a hole in it, and as I understand Mr. 
Maskelyne has " lost his front teeth,*' which seem to 
be such an important factor in the equation, I think I 
had better not wait any longer, but give the twenty 
pounds to some missionary society to furnish the 
Fiji Islanders with red flannel shirts, jews 1 -harps, 
gum-drops, and warming-pans. — Faithfully yours, 
Hiram Maxim. 

Dear Sir, — I fully anticipated Sir Hiram Maxim's 
quibble, and I endeavoured to checkmate it by pro- 
posing a contest, with a committee to decide disputes. 
As Sir Hiram would not entertain such a straight- 
forward proposal, it left but two courses open to me 
— viz., to remain under the stigma so unwarrantably 
cast upon my reputation, or to demonstrate how all 
the tricks described by Sir Hiram in his June article 
could be accomplished. This latter course I claim 
to have followed, to the entire satisfaction of every 
unbiassed person. 

Sir Hiram says that his article was full and 
explicit, but he now supplements it with a number 
of fresh details, cunningly worded so as to make it 
appear that my explanations are not sufficient to 
account for the tricks. In resorting to this stratagem 
he has gone too far and outwitted himself. He has 
magnified these commonplace tricks into miracles, 
and conclusively proved that his wonderful memory 
cannot be relied upon. In referring to the Bridgeport 
stance, at which the medium was secured with hand- 
cuffs supplied by the police inspector, he now states 
that he entered the cabinet with the medium and 
a lady weighing fourteen stone, that he was sure 
there was no one in the cabinet before they entered it ; 
that the chief detective was on the stage, and was also 
sure that no one v*as in the cabinet previously. He 
states, further, that he and the fourteen-stone lady- 
held the medium — head, hand, and foot— with the 
grip of a vice. Unfortunately for himself Sir Hiram 
had forgotten that he told us in his article that at 
this particular seance no cabinet was used, but a 
" very light and small canvas tent." 

Now, if Sir Hiram, the medium, and the fourteen- 
stone lady could have got into this very light, small 
canvas tent, there must have been light enough inside 
for them to have ascertained how the tricks were 
performed, or whether a miracle took place. 

It is difficult to fix Sir Hiram to a definite state- 
ment in these supplementary details, however. If he 
asserts that little Mr. Pay was securely tied and the 
knots sealed, and his hands filled with peas, and that 
" in one second of time'"'' he put his hand througTi a 
hole in the door and played upon several instruments, 
I unhesitatingly declare that there is something 
radically wrong with Sir Hiram's memory. — Yours 
faithfully, J. N. Maskelyne. 


Those who have already made the acquaintance of Mr. W. J. Locke's 
inimitable creation, Aristide Pujol, will be glad to know that the next story 
of the series, which we shall publish shortly, is of a particularly amusing 

character. Its title is — 


by C^OOgle 

Original from 


Puzzles and Solutions, By Henry E. Duaeney. 


HERE is a pretty little chess puzzle t made wtne 
years ago by Mr- F, S- Ensor. While has to 
checkmate the Black king without ever moving a 
queen off the hot torn row, on which they at present 

I got into conversation with a farmer in the train 
the other day, and he left me a pretty little poser — 
quite unintentional ly p I believe. I happened to ask 
him if he had far to drive from the railway station, 
and this is what he told me. If he got out at 
Appleford, it is just the same distance as if he went 
to Br id icefield, fifteen miles farther on, and if he 
changed at Apple ford and went thirteen miles from 
there to Carterton t it would still be the same distance. 
In fact, he said he was equidistant from the three 
stations. Now I happened to know that Bridgefield 
is just fourteen miles from Carterton, so it amused 
me, after he had gone, to work out the exact distance 
that the farmer had to drive home* 

\\\[[ I L. 

Stand. It is not difficult As the White king is not 
needed in this puzzle, His Majesty's attendance is 
dispensed with. His three wives can dispose of the 
enemy without assistance — in seven moves. 


M IT is a glorious game ! " an enthusiast was heard 
to exclaim. (i At the close of last season, of the 
footballers of my acquaintance four had broken their 
left arm, five had broken their right arm, two had the 
right arm sound, and three had sound left arms*" 
Can you discover from that statement what is the 
smallest number of players that the speaker could be 
acquainted with ? It does not at all follow thai 
there were as many as fourteen men, because, for 
example, two of the men who had broken the 
left arm might also be the two who had sound 
right arms* 

Solutions to Last Month a Puzzle*. 

From C to E (or to any other card) the ten 
counters may be transferred in 31 moves, Make a pile 
of four counters on A (7 moves) : a pile of three on 
B (5 moves) j a pile of two on D (3 moves) ; transfer 
No. 10 to E (1 move) ; transfer D to E (3 moves) ; 
B to E (j moves] ; A to E (7 moves) \ making jl 
moves in all. The twenty counters may be trans- 
ferred from C lo E in 1 1 1 moves. Make piles of 
ten f six, and three (which will take respectively JI, 
J 7, and 7 moves), and then proceed as before. 

I GIVE [wo pleasing arrangements of the trees. 
In each case there are twelve straight rows with five 
trees in every row + 

Tim il lustration explains itself. Divide the bunting 
into 25 squares (because this number is the sum vt 
two other squares — 16 and 9), and then cut along 
the thick lines. The two pieces marked A form one 
square, and the twi> pieces marked B form the other. 

by Google 

Play the pieces in the following order. As there 
is never more than one vacant square, the nature oi 
a move can never be in doubt. B, Q, K, H ( K t Q, 
H, R N B, K, B, Q, R, B t R, t^, R, B, R s B, R, B, 
K, B. O, K. The king thus reaches the vacant 
square in 26 moves. 

Original from 





W H. R. Mill 




T was very glorious to wake 
up the next morning in enor- 
mous soft beds— four- posted, 
with many-folded silk hang- 
ings, and shiny furniture that 
reflected the sunlight as dark 
mirrors might do. And 
nice, with different sorts of 

breakfast was 

things to eat, in silver dishes with spirit-lamps 

under them 
— bacon and 
sausages and 
scrambled ^ggs, 
and as much 
toast and marma- 
lade as you 
wanted ; not just 
porridge and 
apples, as at Aunt 
Emmeline's. There were tea and coffee and 
hot milk ; and they all chose hot milk. 

" I feci," said Caroline, pouring it out of a 
big silver jug with little bits of ivory between 
the handle and the jug to keep the handle 
from getting too hot— "I feel that we're 
going to enjoy every second of the time 
we're here." 

11 Rather," said Charles, through sausage, 
"Isn't Uncle Charles a dear?" he added, 
more distinctly, 
by e. Nesbh-RiamL Original from 




There was an interval of contented silence. 
Then, "What shall we do first?" said Charles. 

His sisters, with one voice, answered, 
" Explore, of course." 

And they finished their breakfast to dreams 
of exploring every hole and corner of the 
wonderful house. But when they rang to 
have breakfast taken away it was Mrs. Wil- 
mington who appeared. 

" Your uncle desired me to say that he 
thinks it healthy for you to spend some 
hours in the hopen — tfpen air," she said, 
speaking in a small, distinct voice. " He 
himself takes the air of an afternoon. So 
will you please all go out at once," she ended, 
in a burst of naturalness, "and not come 
'ome, — Aome, till one o'clock." 

"Where are we to go? "asked Charlotte, 
not pleased. 

" Not beyond the park and grounds," said 
the housekeeper. "And," she added, reluc- 
tantly, " Mr. Charles said if there was any 
pudding you liked to mention " 

A brief consultation ended in, "Treacle 
hat, please." 

Then they went out, as they had been told 
to do. And they took off their shoes and 
stockings, which they had not been told to 
do, but, on the other hand, had not been told 
not to, and walked barefooted in the grass, 
still cool and dewy under the trees. And 
they put on their boots again and explored 
the park, and explored the stable-yard, where 
a groom was brightening the silver buckles of 
the harness and whistling as he rubbed. 
They explored the stables and the harness- 
room, and the straw-loft, and the hay-loft. 
And then they went back to the park and 
climbed trees— a little way — because, though 
they had always known that they would climb 
trees if ever they had half a chance, they had 
not, till now, had any chance at all. 

'And all the while they were doing this they 
were looking for the garden. 

And there wasn't any garden ! 

That was the plain fact that they had to 
face after two hours of sunshine and green 

" And I'm certain mother said there was a 
garden," Caroline said, sitting down suddenly 
on the grass — "a beautiful garden and a 

" Perhaps the uncle didn't like it, and he's 
had it made not garden again — 'going 
back to Nature' that would be, like Aunt 
Emmeline talks about," Charles suggested. 

" But it's dreadful if there's no garden," 
said Caroline, " because of the flowers we 
were going to send in letters. Wild flowers 

don't have such deep meanings, I'm certain 
of that" 

" Never mind," Charles said. " Think of 
exploring the house — and finding the book, 
perhaps. We'll ask the elegant one, when 
we go in, why there isn't a garden." 

" We won't wait till then," said Charlotte ; 
" let's go and ask that jolly chap who's 
polishing the harness. He looked as if he 
wouldn't mind us talking to him." 

So they went. And when they asked 
William, the groom, why there wasn't a 
garden, he answered, surprised : — 

" Ain't they shown you, miss ? Not a 
garden ? There ain't a garden to beat it 
hereabouts. Come on, I'll show you." 

"We aren't to go indoors till dinner-time," 
Caroline told him; "and, besides, we should 
like to see the garden — if there really is one." 

"Of course there is one, miss," said 
William. " She'll never see you if you're 
quick. She'll be in her room by now, at her 
accounts and things. And the master's never 
about in these back parts in the morning." 

He led them into a whitewashed passage 
that had cupboards and larders opening out 
of it and ended in a green baize door. He 
opened this, and there they were in the 

" Quick !" he said, and crossed it, unlatched 
another door, and held it open. " Come in 
quiet," he said, and closed the door again. 
And there they all were in a little square 
room with a stone staircase going down the 
very middle of it, like a well. There was a 
wooden railing round three sides of the stair- 
way, and nothing else in the room at all 
except William and the children. 

"A secret staircase," cried Charlotte. " Oh, 
it can't be really. How lovely ! " 

" I dare say it was a secret once," said 
William, striking a match, and lighting a 
candle that stood at the top of the stairs in a 
brass candlestick. " You see, there wasn't 
always these banisters, and you can see 
that ridge along the wall. My grandfather 
says it used to be boarded over, and that's 
where the joists went." 

" But what's the stair for ? Where does it 
go f Are we going down ? " the children 

" Yes, and sharp, too. Nobody's supposed 
to go this way except the master. But you'll 
not tell on me. I'll go first. Mind the 
steps, miss." 

They minded the steps, going carefully 
down, following the blinking, winking blue 
and yellow gleam of the candle. 

" Straight ahead now," said William, holding 


L\ 1 1 I U I I I '_' 




the candle up to show the groined roof of 
a long, straight passage, built of stone, and 
with stone flags for the floor of it. 

" How perfectly ripping ! " said Charlotte, 
breathlessly. " It ts brickish of you to bring 
us here. Where does it go to ?" 

" You wait a bit," answered William, and 
went on. The passage ended in another 
flight of steps— up this time — and the steps 
ended in a door, and when William had 
opened this, everyone frowned and shut their 
eyes, for the doorway framed green leaves 
with sunlight dazzling through them ; and — ■ 

"'Ere's the garden," said William; and 
here, indeed, it was. 

" There's another door the other end what 
the gardeners go in and out of," said William. 
" I'll get you the key arter dinner." 

The door had opened into a sort of arch 
or arbour, for its entrance was almost veiled 
by thick growing shrubs. 

" Oh, thank you," said Caroline. " But 
when did they make this passage, and what 
for ? " 

" They made that passage when the folks 
in the house was too grand to go through 
the stable-yard and too lazy to go round," 
said William. " There's no stable-yard way 
now," he added. " So long ! I must be 
getting back, miss. Don't you let on as I 
brought you through." 

"•Of course not," everyone said. Charles 
added : — 

" But I didn't know the house was as old 
as secret passages in history times." 

" It's any age you please," said William ; 
"the back parts is." 

He went back through the door and the 
children went out through the leafy screen in 
front, into the most beautiful garden that 
could be, with a wall. I like unwalled 
gardens myself, with views from the terraces. 
From this garden you could see nothing but 
tall trees and — the garden itself. 

The lower half was a vegetable garden 
arranged in squares, with dwarf fruit trees and 
flower borders round them like the borders 
round old - fashioned pocket-handkerchiefs. 
Then about half-way up the garden came 
steps, stone balustrades, a terrace, and beyond 
that a flower-garden with smooth green turf- 
paths, box-edged, a sundial in the middle, and 
in the flower-beds flowers, more flowers than 
I could give names to. 

" How perfectly perfect ! " Charlotte cried. 

" I do wish I'd brought out my * Language 
of Flowers ' ! " said Caroline. 

"How awfully tidy everything is!" said 
Charles, in awestruck tones. 

by Google 

There was nowhere an imperfect leaf, a 
deformed bud, or a misshapen flower. Every 
plant grew straight and strong, and with an 
extraordinary evenness. 

" They look like pictures of plants more 
than like real ones," said Caroline, quite truly. 

An old gardener was sweeping the terrace 
steps and gave the children "Good morning." 

They gave it back and stayed to watch 
him. It seemed polite to say something 
before turning away. So Caroline said, 
" How beautifully everything grows here ! " 

" Aye," said the old man, " it do. Say 
perfect and you won't be far out." 

" It's very clever of you," Charlotte spoke. 
"Ill- weeds don't grow in a single place in 
your garden." 

" I don't say as I don't do something," 
replied the old man, " but seems as if there 
was a blessing on the place — everything 
thrives and grows just-so." 

" I say ! " Caroline went after him to do 
it. " I say — may we pick the flowers ? " 

" In moderation," said the gardener, and 
went away. 

" I wonder what he'd call moderation ? ,: 
said Charles ; and they discussed this 
question so earnestly that the dinner-bell 
rang before they had picked any flowers 
at all. 

The gate at the end of the garden was 
open, and they went out that way. Over 
the gate was a stone with words on it and a 
date. They stopped to spell out the carved 
letters : — 




Caroline copied the last two words in her 
grey-covered pocket-book, and when Mrs. 
Wilmington came in to carve the mutton, 
Caroline asked what the words meant. 

" I never inquired," said the housekeeper. 
" It must be quite out of date now, whatever 
it meant once. But you must have been in 
the garden to see that. How did you get 

An awkward question. There was nothing 
for it but to say, " By the secret passage." 
And Charles said it. 

" No one uses that but your uncle," said 
Mrs. Wilmington, "and you were requested 
to keep out of doors till dinner-time." 

She shut her mouth with a snap, and went 
on carving. 

"Sorry," said Caroline. 

" Granted," returned Mrs. Wilmington, 
but not cordially ; and having placed two 
slices of mutton on each plate she went away. 

Original from 




" It i s jolly having meals by ourselves," 
said Charlotte ; " only I wish she wasn't 

l( We ought to be extra manner-y, 1 expect, 
when we're by ourselves, " observed Caroline. 
" May I pass you the salt, Charles ? " 

"No, you mayn't," answered Charles; 
" thank you t I mean ; but there's one at 
each corner. That's one each for us, and 
one over for— — " 

" For ker" Charlotte pointed to the 
picture of the dark-eyed, fair-haired lady. 

V Let's put a chair for her," said Charlotte, 

11 and pretend she's come to dinner, 
then we shall have to behave like 
grown up people. 1 ' 

And a large, green-seated chair 
whose mahogany back was inlaid 
with a brass scroll pattern was 
wheeled to the empty space on 
the fourth side of the table, 

u Now we must none of us look at 
her— in the picture, I mean. And 
then we can't be sure that she isn't 
sitting in that chair," said Caroline. 
After dinner Caroline looked up 
"remorse 11 and "regret" in ''The 
Language of Flowers." It was 
agreed that Mrs* Wilmington had 
better have a bouquet* 

" * Brambles/ " Caroline said, her 
finger in the book, " mean remorse, but they 
wouldn't make a very comfortable nosegay. 
And * regret's ' verbena, and I don't even 
know what it is/' 

"Put pansies with the brambles/ 1 said 
Charlotte ; " that'll be thoughts of remorse," 
So the housekeeper, coming down very 
neat in her afternoon dress of shiny black 
alpaca, was met by a bunch of pansies, 

"To show we think we're remorsish about 
the secret stairs," said Charlotte ; "and look 
out, because the brambles are the remorse 
and they prick like Billy-o ! " 




Mrs, Wilmington smiled, and looked 
quite nice-looking, 

" Thank you f " she said. " I am sure you 
will remember not to repeat the fault." 

Which wasn't the nicest way of receiving 
a re morse- bouquet ; but then, as Charlotte 
remarked, perhaps she couldn't help not 
knowing the nice ways. And, anyhow, she 
seemed pleased, and that was the great 
thing, as Caroline pointed out. 

Then, having done something to please 
Mrs, Wilmington, they longed to do some- 
thing to please someone else, and the uncle 
was the only person they could think of 
doing anything to please, 

^ Suppose we arranged all the books in 
the dining-room bookcases— in colours— all 
the reds together and all the greens, and the 
ugly ones all on a shelf together," Charlotte 
suggested. And the others agreed. 

So that the afternoon flew by like any old 

put them back, while you go and wash your 
hands/ 1 

"Well put them back/' the children said, 
but in vain. They had to go to wash their 
hands, and Mrs, Wilmington continued to 
put the books back all the time they were 
having tea. Patiently and carefully she did 
it r not regarding the colours at all, and her 
care and her patience seemed to say, more 
loudly than any words she could have 
spoken, " Yes, there you sit, having your 
nice tea— and I cannot have my tea 1 because 
I have to clear up after you. But I do not 
complain. No," 

They would have preferred that she 
should complain. But they couldn't say so. 

Now, you may say it was chance, or you 
may say it was fate, or you may say it was 
destiny, or fortune—in fact, you may say 
exactly what you choose. But the fact 
remains unaltered by your remarks, 


bird, as Caroline put it, and when tea came 
the floor and sofa and chairs were covered 
with books, and one shelf was gay with red 
books and half a shelf demure in green. 

"Your uncle isn't coming home to-day,'* 
said Mrs, Wilmington, "and Vm sure it's 
just as well What a mess ! Here, let me 

by L^OOgle 

When Mrs. Wilmington placed a fat 
brown volume of sermons on the shelf, and 
said: "There, that's the last," she t quite 
without meaning it, said what was not true 
For when tea was over the children found 
that the fat sermon book had not been 
the last The last was tl Shadoxhurst on 
Original from 



Thessalonians," a dull large book, and Mrs. 
Wilmington had not put it back in its place 
because she had not seen it. It was, in fact, 
lying on the floor, hidden by the tablecloth. 
If Charles had not happened to want his 
handkerchief, and gone down to look for it 
on the floor (its usual situation when it was 

be all magic, and abracadabra, and crossed 
triangles, like in ' Ingoldsby Legends/ " 

" I'll have first look, anyway," said 
Caroline. " I found it." 

"I found it," said Charles. "You only 
picked it up." 

"You only dropped it Oh, bother!" 


needed), he would not have seen the book 

Charles picked up Thessalonians. and the 
cover "came off in his hand," as the handles 
of cups do in the hands of washing-up 

What was inside the cover fell on the floor 
with a thump, and Caroline picked that up. 

" Shadoxhurst on Thessalonians," Charles 
read from the cover. 

"This isn't," said Caroline, looking at 
what had been inside. " It's — I say ! Sup- 
pose it was the book " 

She looked up at the picture. 

It was certainly like the painted book. 

"Only it hasn't any brass clasps," said 
Caroline. "But look— it used to have clasps. 
You can see the marks where they used 
to go." 

You could. 

" Glory ! " cried Charlotte. " Fancy finding 
it the very first day ! Let's take it to Uncle 

" Perhaps it isn't it," suggested Caroline. 
"Then he'd be furious, perhaps." 

" We'll soon see." Charles reached out a 
hand. " Let's have a squint. It ought to 

Vol. xlL-31. 

She had opened the book and now let her 
hands fall, still holding it. 

" Bother what ? " asked the others. 

" It isn't English. It's French, or Latin, 
or something. Isn't that just like things ? 
Here, you can look." 

Charles took the book. 

" It's I^atin," he said. " I could read it 
if I knew a little more Latin. I can read 
some of it as it is. I know quam, and apud, 
and rara. Let's take it to the uncle." 

"Oh, no" said Caroline. " Let's find out 
what it is first." 

It was not easy to find out. The title- 
page was missing, and quant, apud y and rara, 
though quite alf right in their way, gave but 
little clue to what the book was about. 

" I wish we'd someone we could ask," 
said Charles. " I don't suppose the Wilming- 
ton knows any Latin. I don't suppose she 
knows even apud and quam and rara. If we 
had the Murdstone chap handy, he could 
tell us, I suppose." 

" I'm glad we haven't," Charlotte said. " I 
don't suppose he'd tell us. And he d take it 
away. I say ! I suppose there's a church some- 
where near* and a. clergyman. He y d know.* 




" Of course he would/ 1 Caroline said, with 
returning brightness. "Let's go and ask him." 

Half an hour later the children, coming 
down a deep -banked lane, saw before 
them the grey tower of the church, with 
elm trees round it t standing among old 
gravestones and long grass, 

A white- 
faced house 
stood on the 
other side of 
the church- 

" I suppose 
the clergyman 
lives there," 
" Please/' she 
said to a plea- 
sant - looking, 
hook - nosed 
man who was 
mending the 
chore hyard 
w a 1 1 3 and 
i( Blow away 
the morning 
dew " as he 
slapped on 
the mortar 
and trimmed 
off the edges 
with a dia- 
trowel, ''please 
does the 
iive in that 
house ? " 

"He does," 
answered the 
man with the 
trowel. u Do 
you want 

-Yes," said 

"Well, here 
he is," said 
the man with 
the trowel. 
"What can I do for you?" 

"Do you mean to say that you're It i 
The clergyman, I mean ; I beg your pardon/ 1 
said Caroline ; and the man with the trowel 
replied, "At your service," 

it i f^g y 0ur pardon/' said Caroline again, 

Digitized by^OOQle 


very red as to her ears, " I thought you 
were a working man." 

*' So I am, thank God," said the man 
with the trowel. " You see, we haven't 
much money to spare, the parish is so poor, 
so we do any little repairs ourselves. Did 
you ever set a stone? It's awfully jolly. The 

mortar goes 
on so nicely, 
and squeezes 
out pleasantly. 
Like to try ? " 
he asked 

Of course, 
they all liked 
to try* And it 
was not till 
each had laid 
a stone and 
patted it into 
place and 
scraped off 
the mortar 
and got tho- 
roughly dusty 
and dirty and 
that anyone 
why they had 

"Oh, this!" 
said the 
clergyman — 
for so I must 
call hinij 
though any- 
thing less 
than he looked 
in his mortar- 
stained flan- 
nels and blue 
blazer you 
can't imagine. 
"It looks 
Latin/ 1 he 
said, opening 
it carefully, 
lor his hands 
we re very dirty, 
modi; st pride. 
" I told them it was. I saw vara and quam 
and apud* 1 

"Quite so," said the clergyman; " rara^ 
tjimm, and apud. Words of power.' 1 

"Oh.dojv;* know about words of power?" 



"Yes," said Charles, with 



"Rather! Do you?" 

"Rather!" they said. And if anything 
had been needed to cement this new friend- 
ship, well, there it was. 

11 Ix>ok here," said the clergyman. " If 
you'll just wait while I wash my hands I'll 
walk up with you. And I'll look through 
the book and report to you to-morrow." 

" But what's it about ? " 

" About ? " said he, turning the leaves deli- 
cately with the least mortared of his fingers. 
"Oh, it's about spells and charms and things." 

" How perfectly too lovely ! " exulted Char- 
lotte. " Oh, do read us one — just only one" 

" Righto," was the response of this unusual 
clergyman, and he read: " 'The seed of the fern, 
if pulverized* — pressed, pounded, smashed, 
you know — 'and laid upon the eyes at the 
twelfth hour ' — midnight, you know ; at least, 
I think that's it — ' on a certain day shall give 
to the eyes thus doctored ' — treated, dealt 
with, you know — 'the power to see that 
which is not to be seen.' It means you'll see 
invisible things. I say, I must wash. I 
feel the dirt soaking into my bones. Will 
you wait ? " 

The children looked at each other. Then 
Charlotte said, " Look here, don't think we 
don't like you. We do — awfully. But if 
you walk up with us will you feel bound to 
tell uncle about the book? Because it's a 
secret. He's looking for a book, and we 
think perhaps this is it. But we don't want 
to tell him till we are quite sure." 

"I found it inside Somebody-or-other-quite- 
dull on Thessalonians, you know," said 
Charles ; " and I saw it was Latin because of 
quam and " 

" My dear sir— and ladies," said the agree- 
able clergyman, " I am the soul of honour. 
I would perish at the stake before I would 
reveal a centimetre of your least secret. 
Trust me to the death." And off he went. 

"What a different clergyman ! "said Charles; 
" he is just like anybody else — only nicer." 

" He said ' Thank God,' " Caroline re- 
minded him ; " he said it like being in 
church, too, not" like cabmen and people in 
the street." 

" He said, ' Thank God he was a working 
man,' " said Charlotte. " I wonder what he 
meant ? " 

" I shall ask him some day," said Caroline, 
"when we know him better." 

But anyone who had met the party as they 
went talking and laughing up the hill would 
have thought they had known each other for 
long enough, and could hardly know each 
other any better than they did. 


Charles was dreaming of mortaring the 
Murdstone gentleman securely into a first- 
class railway carriage, and tapping him on the 
head with a brass trowel which was also a 
candlestick, when he was awakened by a pinch 
given gently. At the same moment a hand 
was laid on his mouth, and a whisper said : — 

" Hist— not a word ! " 

" Shut up," said Charles, recognizing at 
once the voice of his sister Charlotte. " I'm 
asleep. Don't be a duffer. Go to bed." 

<; No, but," said Charlotte, in the dark, 
" Caroline and I have been talking about the 
fern-seed. And we're going to try it. Putting 
it on our eyes, I mean. To see whether we 
can see invisible things." 

" Silly," said Charles, briefly. 

" All right. Only don't say we didn't ask 
you to join in." 

" There isn't any fern - seed," objected 

" Yes, there is. Mrs. Wilmington's got 
some in the room they call her housekeeper's 
room, under a bell glass. Stupid little 
ferns, but I expect the seed's all right. Caro 
saw them when she went in to ask the 
Wilmington if we might get up at seven 
instead of half-past, because of everything 
being so new and lovely. She meant because 
of the charm book, of course. And she saw 
the ferns then." 

" Are you really going to ? " asked Charles, 
warm in bed. 

" Yes" said Charlotte, m a take-it-or leave- 
it tone. 

" Oh, very well," said Charles, " only don't 
forget I told you it was silly rot. And, of 
course, nothing will happen. I was right 
about the I^atin, you know." 

" Here's your dressing-gown," answered 
Charlotte, who had been feeling for it in the 
mahogany wardrobe. " You can scrabble 
for your shoes with your feet. I suppose 
they're beside the bed. Hurry up." 

Charles got up, grumbling gently. It was 
not to be expected that he would feel the 
same about this wild fern-seed idea as his 
sisters, who had thought and talked of 
nothing else for more than three hours, and 
had had to pinch each other to keep awake. 
Still, he got up, and they all went down to 
Mrs. Wilmington's room, which was warm 
and seemed full of antimacassars, china 
ornaments, and cheerfully-bound copies of 
the poets — the kind that are given for 
birthday presents and prizes, beautiful 
outside, and inside very small print on thin 
paper that lets the printing on the other 
side show through Charlotte found this out 




as they waited, by the light of their one 
candle, for it to be twelve o'clock. 

Caroline was plucking fronds of fern, 
carefully, so that the lack of them should 
not disfigure the plants. 

" It's all duffing," grumbled Charles. 
" Don't forget I said so. And how are you 
going to pound the beastly stuff? You'll 
wake the Wilmington and the uncle and 
the whole lot if you pound." 

" I thought," said Caroline, hesitating 
with the fern-fronds in her hand and her 
little short pigtail sticking out like a sauce- 
pan handle, as Charles put it later ; " I 
thought — it sounds rather nasty, but it isn't 
really, you know, if you remember it's all 
you— I thought we might chew them. Each 
do our own, you know, and put them on 
our eyes like a poultice. I know you hated 
it when Aunt Emmeline chewed the lily 
leaves and put them on your thumb when 
you burnt it," she told Charles ; " but then 
her chewing is quite different from you 
doing it." 

" I don't care," said Charles ; " it's only a 
bit more of your nonsense. Give us the 
beastly seeds." 

" They won't come off the leaves," said 
Caroline. " We shall have to chew the lot." 

" In for a penny, in for a sheep," said 
Charlotte, cheerfully. " I mean, we may as 
well be hanged for a pound as a lamb. I 
mean " 

"/know what you mean," Caroline inter- 
rupted. " Here you are. It's just on twelve. 
Chew for all you're worth, and when the 
Wilmington's clock has half-struck put it on 
your eyes. And when it's struck all the strikes 
take it off. Yes. I've thought about it all. 
I'm sure that's right. Now then, chew." 

" I hope it's not poison," said Charles ; 
11 you'll remember I told you " 

"Of course it isn't," said Caroline. "We 
often licked ferns And I'm not dead. I 
say. I dare say nothing will happen. But 
think how silly we should feel if we hadn't 
tried it And this is the only night. He 
said so." 

"Oh, all right," said Charles. "At any 
rate, if we do it you can't be always saying 
we ought to have." 

"Chew," said Charlotte; and the clock 
began to strike. 

" One, two, three, four, five, six," said Mrs. 
Wilmington's highly ornamented pink china 
clock ; each child had thrust a little bunch of 
fern fronds into its mouth. 

" Seven," said the clock. 

" Now," said Caroline. 

And each child . . . But you picture 
the scene. 

" Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, purr," said the 
clock, and said no more. 

" I don't like to take it off," said Charlotte, 
her hands to her eyes. " Suppose we did see 

" We sha'n't," said Charles. 

" You must," said Caroline. 

"Oh, well," said Charlotte, and took away the 
little poultice of chewed fern from each eye. 
"There's nothing," she said. 

" I knew there wouldn't be," said Charles. 
" Perhaps another time you'll know I'm 

" Never mind," said Caroline ; " we did it, 
so we can't keep bothering about what might 
have happened if we had. Let's go to bed. 
It was decent of you to try, Charles, when 
you didn't want to so much Oh ! " 

" What ? " said the others. 

" Poisoned," said Charles, gloomily. " I 
knew it wasn't safe. I expect you chewed 
harder than we did and Oh ! " 

Charlotte had already said her " Oh ' " 
And now all three children were staring 
straight before them at the window. And 
there, where a moment ago was just black, 
bare, outside night, was a face — a white face 
with wide, dark eyes. 

" It's true," gasped Caroline; "it is true — 
the fern-seed does " 

" It's not true," said Charles, stoutly, his 
eyes on the face. 

"Oh, but it is," said Charlotte. "Oh, 
what's going to happen now ? K 

And each child felt that the fern-seed had 
done what no one had, in its deep, deep 
heart, believed that it would do, and that 
their eyes now gazed — seeing — upon the 

" I wish we hadn't," said Charles. " I told 
you not to." 

The lips of the face outside moved, as 
though it were speaking 

"No? cried Charlotte. H< I don't want it 
to be true." 

A hand was raised — a hand outside the 
window. Would it knock at the window ? 
The fern-seed only made you see the unseen, 
not hear the unheard. If the hand knocked 
at the window, and plainly it was going to 
knock ... if the hand knocked, would 
they hear it ? 

The hand knocked. 

(7b be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Novel Picture Puzzles. 

Readers will find on this page a series of puzzles presented in a somewhat original 
style, solutions of which, together with further puzzles of the same kind, will appear 

next month. 



Which will be first 
off the table ? 


6 ft diameter, at its centre, 
and start together to • • 
get off it. the frog goes- 
is inches the first leap- 
9 inches the second, and 
so on, each leap being ♦• 
half the preceding one. 
The snail crawls, uniformly 
6 inches per minute. 



by Cji( 

Original from 



[ Wt shall fa g/aa* to receive Caitirihttfwns ta tkis $taion % and to pay for such as are accepted.} 


THIS is a photograph of a very novel pet which 
arrived at an hotel abroad with its master. As 
it had no tail it puzzled everyone to know what sort 
of a dog it could possibly he, and on inquiry we 
found it was not a dog at all, hut a Russian wolf 
which its master had procured at an early age and 
trained as a dog. Its constant restlessness anil quick - 
moving eyes, however, revealed the still savage 
instincts within, and a poor tame chicken which 
happened to wander aimlessly by was snapped up 
and killed in a flash. Rather a dangerous and 
unreliable " pel " !— Mr, N. Rankin, 6;, Carlton 
Hill, London, N.YY* 

X T Coven try, recently, a lorry hearing a huge 
/V, boiler suddenly collapsed, owing to the enor- 
mous weight driving one of its wheeb into a weak 
spot in the roadway. The wheel half disappeared 
into what was apparently a solid road* The boiler 
rolled towards the door of a house, hut, luckily for 
the residents, a lamp-post slopped the progress of 
this twenty-five tons or so of metal. The effect on 
she lamp- post, however, was rather curious, and the 
photograph proves conclusively that the shock i) 
received was very severe - Mr. John J, Ward, 
Rusinurbe [louse, Somerset Road, Coventry. 


BV inserting this photograph of a summer-house 
made by myself out of old window ■ blinds 
you will, I feel sure, earn the gratitude of m;*ny 
Strand readers, for not only will it show them how 

l hey ma) ust-tiiily occupy then leisure hours, I mi the 
result of their labour will he a most comfortable and 
ornamental addition to I heir garden. Photograph by 
A. Lemay. — Mr. John Sutherland, Uddingston. 


YOU have published in recent issues several 
photographs showing various forms of finger 
dislocation, but I think the one 1 now send you, 
showing the little finger protruding at the side of the 
closed hand, is at least as curious as any of them, — 
Mr. George Edward Harris, 1 8, I)e Lorentz Street, 
Cape Town, 

by Google 

iginal tram 




BUILT hv the 
"priest" or 
leader of a small 
handful of devalues 
of a section of the 
Ku^ian Greek 
Church, this ''one- 
man church" was 
until lately one of 
the "sighis"* of 
the foreign district 
in Winnipeg! 
Manitoba. Most of 
the stuff consists 
mainly of old I mil- 
ler, tin cans of all 
sorts and sires, iron 
bedsteads, chairs, 
iron wire, and rod* of all kind-, vuo^i ingeniously put 
together, and presenting a wonderful picture of great 
variety of colours and shapes. The church has been 
pulled down lately, as the owner got into financial 
difficulties and was behind in his payments on the 
lot on which it 
IT, Dun cairn 

Hails. The wheat 
Eo be threshed is 
ol inl 1 <br li-.pjx r 
by the two men on 
the plat form , the 
grain subsequently 
, falling into the 
sacks suspended 
beneath. — Mr. D* 
J. Cangram, 83, 
Woodville Road, 
Thornton Heath, 

Buildings Antrim 
Hrtad, Belfast. 

stood. — Mr. J. K. Patterson 

mnnmmumn t$mtm 




THE novel 
1 h re sh i n g ^ 
machine shown in 
the drawing at the 
right hand top of 
this page is used by 
some peasants in 
the valley of the 
Orne, where I took 
the picture during 
a recent visit to 
Normandy. The 
hnrst: has Wen 
trained to walk on 
an endless plat- 
form, or treadmill, 
thereby furnishing 
the motive power 
for working the 


THIS model of 
a shuwman's 

18 Whirling the 
Whirl" was made entiicly out of old boxes, elc. T Wing 
the result of some years' work in spare moments. 
The whole takes down and ^-acks up into five 
trucks, three of which are used in its construction. 
There are over five hundred parts to be put in 
position, and it takes about four hours to build up, — 

Messrs, A. Lenox 









and K. J. Farrish, 
29, Austin Street, 

s 1 

! <4L: 

UfflMtmwt 4 *wum*siUMtMti t U MW*w*w 



EKING in a 
recent issue 
of Tut: Strand 
Magazine a 
picture of a Suf- 
frageile drawn on 
a typewriter, I am 
sending you an 
attempt of my own 
done in the same 
manner, 10 which 
I have given the 
title of " The 
Strand Farm/ 1 
— Miss Agnes 
IH -^ ins. 24, 
Heathlield Gar- 
den s, C h i s - 
wid,, W. 


2 + S 


bending the wire until the screw was 
held in the centre, and then starting 
the pendulum swinging, the watch 
commenced to go, and, judging hy (he 
swing of the pendulum, has no inten- 
tion of slipping. Since shortening the 
wire by rolling (he screw higher up the 
watch has kept excellent lime. The 
leaf shown in the photograph is simply 
a brass picture -hanger to which the 
watch is screwed at the hack, the former 
then Ifeing nailed to the walL — Mr. 
John A. Or me, 7J, Fir wood Avenue, 
Urmston Lane, Stretford* near Man- 



OX a recent expedition to Alaska we stopped at 
Alert Hay, an old Indian village on Vancouver 
Island, and I had an e* eel lent opportunity of photo* 
graphing the most complete collection of totem poles 
to he found anywhere on the Pacific Coast, of which 
i hose shown in my photograph are a sample. They 
represent the family heraldics of the Si wash or Coast 
Indians, and every 1 in use has its own totem pole, 
consisting of figures of birds and animals and other 
monstrosities rudely carved in wood and quaintly 
coloured. The top figure represents the crest of the 
owner of the house, the one beneath it that of his 
wife, and the remaining ones that of his or his wife's 
relatives. As a rule there are only three or four 
figures carved on a totem, and only the totems of the 
greatest chiefs have six figures carved on them. 
This custom seems 10 have originated in the trans- 
migratory idea of the souls of men passing into the 
forms of birds and animals, and is interesting as show- 
ing that the Indians had some faint idea of a super- 
natural power. It will l ie remembered that Longfellow, 

in his ** Hiawatha," 
refers to the "an- 
cestral totem. " — 
Miss Margaret H. 
Wheat, GJ*.(X h 
Vancouver, Hritish 


broken the 
hairspring of this 
watch ^ E took out 
the fly - wheel and 
the bracket which 
supports one end of 
its spindle ; I then 
d re w a st rand u f w i r e 
out of a piece of 
brass gauze, made 
a hook at one end, 
honked this on to 
the *' pallets," and 
the other end of 
the wire I t wis led 
around a simitl wood 

J'kOilLEM No. i, 

O-TRUMP problems are easier 
to solve than those containing 
a trump suit* for there are only certain 
paths that can be followed* But you 
must start right or everything will go 
to smash, for you cannot I rump yourself in the lend 
again when you want it. Take the J olio wing position, 
There are no trumps and Z is in the lead : — 

+ 4- 

4- 1 





♦ +1 

sen w. Kv si 


Y / want seven of these ei^ht tricks. Can they 
get them in spite of A— IS ?— Mr. Frank liny, 
Watervliet, Ne^v York* 

The solution of the No-Trumper given last month 

calls for a series of unblocking plays which includes 

almost every trick* 

T r i ck i . V m u st d i scard c 1 u b, ap parcn X ly insigni fican t . 

Trick 2. V must give up king on ace, 

Trick J. Z throws away the nine* 

Trick 4. And now the ten. 

Trick s- Z underpbys < i^hi wiih trey. 

Trick J. Z iii^^t;jep|f^i^fjfj clubs and not the four, 



The Story of a Nation's Water Powers. 

HE most careless observer, 
taking up a map of Canada, 
cannot have failed to notice 
all over the surface of that 
country a delicate tracery of 
tortuous lines, expanding here 
and there into eccentric blobs, as if the 
draughtsman's pen had picked up a hair and 
made a blot. You are not sure for the 
moment whether they more resemble the 
veins in the human body or that peculiar 
decorative marking known to bookbinders as 
"mottle," though you take them, correctly 
enough, to be rivers and lakes, 

Some have names appended. If the map 
is very large, nearly all have. And quaint 
names some of them are, too — the Wedding 
and Ashuapmouchouan Rivers, for example 
Others, especially the lakes, have a spice of 
romance and a gleam of poetry, as witness 
the Arrow, the Great Slave, the Pelican, the 
Big Quill, the Reindeer, the Moose f .akes, 
and the Lake of the Clouds and the I^ake 
of the Woods ; while yet others haunt 
the memory like a snatch of melody, as the 
Assiniboine River, the Athabasca Lake, and 
the River Saguenay. Some of the names are 
old friends, smacking— pleasantly or other- 
wise, according as we were bright scholars or 
dull -of the class-room and the geography 
lesson : Lake Superior, Lake Erie, Lake 
Huron, and Lake Ontario. But the rest, 
who ever heard of them before ? 

Indeed, except for the momentary interest 
which their strangeness awakens, what cares 

by taOOglC 

V.*L xlL-32 

the reader for them, anyway ? They are just 
so many curly lines and unsightly blotches, 
nothing more. 

It would not be very gratifying to the 
brave men who first navigated and named 
them could they overhear such a summary 
judgment, and perhaps it h not entirely 
creditable to the reader that he makes it. 
For what if those winding waterways should 
prove to be as vital to the life, not of Canada 
alone, but also of Europe and the world, as 
those veins are to the human system ; and 
what if they are clothed with a natural beauty 
which few artists could adequately express 
and none surpass ? At least they are of such 
importance as to merit one half-hour's study, 
even if thereafter they pass from our minds 
for ever. 

Of their beauty I will leave other men, 
more gifted with the pen though not more 
appreciative with the eye, to tell Be it my 
task to speak only of their utility, of the 
service they have already rendered to man- 
kind, and of the inexhaustible powers pent 
up in their limpid depths, awaiting only the 
master-hand of the engineer to harness them 
to the mightiest uses. 

11 White coal." That is the apt and 
pleasing metaphor which the Canadian uses 
in his appreciation of the vast motive powers 
of his national lakes and waterways- Black 
coal he has in large quantities in the eastern 
and western provinces, but "white coal ,J is 
found, as our study of the atlas has shown, 
even in the middle area, and can be utilized 




as a prime mover of machinery without that 
daily peril to life and limb inseparably asso- 
ciated with the mine. 

Little idea can be gathered from the 
attenuated appearance of these markings on 
the map of the wealth of energy they repre- 
sent. Not only are many of the rivers deep 
and broad and swift of movement, but along 
their courses rapids and falls abound. 
Niagara and its wonders so fill the popular 
mind that we are apt to overlook the fact that 
on these great streams are other declivities, 
such as the Hamilton and Montmorency 

through an as yet unsurveyed region capable 
of future settlement into the Arctic Ocean, 
there are 6, 000 miles of waterways, with only 
150 miles of land break. 

Attempts have been made from time to 
time to estimate the total power available 
from all these waters. Where the facts ate 
so difficult of access there has naturally been 
a tendency to exaggerate, On the other 
hand, the Government, alive to this danger, 
have perhaps tended to the opposite extreme, 
and in their records the figures are under 
rather than overstated. 


Falls and the I^achine Rapids, that no less 
boldly challenge the attention. 

Respecting the Hamilton River Falls it 
may be interesting to know that these have 
been variously estimated as capable of yield- 
ing anything from 9,000,000 to 15,000,000 
horse-power, as against an available horse- 
power from the Canadian part of Niagara of 
3,000,000 only. 

The length alone of the Canadian rivers is 
to the Englishman astonishing. From the 
mouth of the St. Lawrence to the head of 
I^ike Superior there is a waterway of 2,381 
miles. The St. Lawrence system proper is 
740 miles long and has 4,000 miles of con- 
nected navigable waters; while from this 
mighty stream to the Mackenzie, which Hows 

Thus, in the evidence given before a Select 
Committee of the Dominion House of Com- 
mons by Mr* R- L> Young, 1) r LS., Super- 
intendent of Railway Lands, in 1909, the 
following estimate, declared by other experts 
to be "altogether too conservative," and 
generally agreed to be the "absolute mini- 
mum/ 1 was given — namely, that the total 
horse - power available from the different 
waters of Canada is 25,692,000. 

To the reader unaccustomed to think in 
scientific measurements these figures, perhaps, 
convey little information. Horse-power is 
the unit of power or force originally settled 
by James Watt in measuring the work capa- 
city of the steam engine. One horse power 
is a force cd^blinaf fJMklfig 33,000 pounds 


"WHITE coal:' 

2 5* 

one foot in one minute, Multiply, then, the 
above total by 33,000 and we get the weight 
which such a force could lift — viz., over 
378,500,000 tons. 

Now, if we subtract from the total 
25,692,900 the 486,887 horse-power already 
in use, we have over 25,206,000 as the net 
available horse- power in the Dominion at 
present running to waste. What this really 
means will be more apparent if I say that 
this is equivalent to an annual wastage of 
over 5 52,000,000 
tons of coal ; or, 
to adopt the Cana- 
dian's metaphor, 
there are over 
552,000,000 tons 
of " white coal " 
immediately avail- 
able for the myriad 
uses of civilization. 
And that is the 
"absolute mini- 

The carefulness 
of the authorities 
is well illustrated 
by one fact — that, 
whereas the capa- 
city of the Hamil- 
ton River Falls 
has been esti- 
mated, as already 
stated, as high as 
15,000,000 horse- 
power, it is 
reckoned in the 
above computation 
at 9,000,000 only* 
Moreover, every 
year new sources 
of power are 
being discovered 
or created. Thus, 
the construction 
of the proposed 
Georgian Bay 
Canal will add to 
the total a horse- 
power of i,i 76,310. 

Although, as we 
have seen, the 
"white coal" is 
well distributed 
overihe Dominion, 
c er tai n provinces 
are socially en- 
dowed. Ontario 
and Quebec, for 

instance, together claim more than 20,200,000 
horse-power. Even excluding the Hamilton 
River Falls, the figure is well over 1 1,000,000. 
What a wonderful field for industry is here ! 
It will bear comparison with any other region 
in the world, and, if its powers were utilized, 
would beat in the favourable character of 
its labour conditions even our own North 
of England, 

This fact was well brought out by Professor 
Adam Shortt recently in an address before 

by Ot 






the Ottawa branch of the Canadian Society of 
Civil Engineers He remarked that rather 
less than two centuries ago our northern 
counties were little more than "a sheep 
walk ' ? ; that although coal had been known 
to be there for many years it was not then 
used for manufacturing purposes. Now, how- 
ever, the manufacturing of the world had to 
a very considerable extent been carried on 

What had taken place in the North of 
England, said he, would in due time take 
place in these two Canadian provinces. And 
not only so + The lives of the people would 
be healthier and happier, for the conditions 
under which manufacturing is carried on 

are vastly superior 
where the power 
is from water than 
where it is from 
coal ; and when the 
employes are 
healthy and happy, 
then is their work 
more swiftly and 
carefully per- 
formed By the 
development and 
conservation of the 
water powers of 
Ontario and 
Quebec, he added, 
other countries 
would some day 
look to Canada, not 
only as the greatest wheat-field of the world, 
but also as the greatest manufacturing centre. 
In Ontario M white coal ,? is already furnish- 
ing power for street railways and suburban 
lines. Its Hydro- Electric Commission scheme 
of transmission is the largest in the world, 
and electric power will shortly be transmitted 
at the highest voltage known — 110,000. 
Nearly twenty municipalities have even now 
arranged to be supplied, and up to January 
last 27,350 horsepower had been contracted 
for. Hydro-electric power averages about 
22dols. per horse-power per year, as against 
6odols. per horse-power from coal or steam 
plant for a twenty- four hours day. The saving 
in cost is thus tremendous. 

by Google 

Vr tJUELPH, i».n \ AK1*.k 

a I trorn 








ilADAME LA MODE shows 
no signs of altering the sim- 
plicity of the general cut of 
garments, the plain lines of 
the newest models being 
more than made up for by 
the richness of the trim- 
mings employed, These are simply applied, 
but very handsome and, necessarily, expensive. 
The keynote of success of all garments 
just now is that the materials must be of the 
very best of their sort. 

Their plain and still somewhat scanty cut 
demands that the best be used and luxu- 
riously enhanced, that the little they consist 
of shall not be dwarfed by what one might 
style " timid" trimming. 

Bold embroideries, bold satin facings, 
wide velvet hands, startling blots of colour 
ornamentations, large beads and bugles, 
huge cabuchons and buckles — all illustrate 
the mode of the moment for trimming other- 
wise quite insignificant-looking garments. 

As an example in evening gowns our 
sketch shows a simple model ; but, exploited 
by a well known Parisian couturier? in maize 
satin with a gold tissue draped belt, the 
bodice embroidered with gold thread and 
the lace parts sparkling with gold sequins, the 
effect was rich in the extreme* The same 
model was also expressed in Irish green 
chiffon velvet with black lace and sash, the 
bodice being finished with a jet embroidery, 
jet cabuchons also centring the rosettes, 
Still another gown of the same cut, so much 
has it caught on, was composed of black 
crepe meteore, the lace being substituted by 
satin of a rich cardinal, which completely 
transformed the design into a new model 





Since anything new for evening 
is eagerly welcomed, I am glad to notice that 
the latest hairdressing conception from across 
the Channel is for the most part generally 
becoming. A scarf of a most delicately- 
coloured blurred design is edged with a row 
of rather large gilt, silver, or pearl beads — 
these latter are also tinted in sky-blue or 








from our 




3 y Google 

shell-pink — and a little cluster of pin curls 
is arranged just below each ear for the 
debit fante y or conveniently omitted for the 
woman of maturer years {see the heading). 

Soutache braiding has by no means dis- 
appeared from the decorative rank, as is 
evidenced by the dernier eri in evening coats 
on this page of pale blue wool back satin, 
the ornamentation liein^ of black silk soutache, 
which reminds nq?ciinla|tfrcfpi 1 lS et mention of 




Flat Paper Patterns of these designs may be 
had from this Office for t/o£ each for FitfJ. I, 
3, or 3 (fcif-r* eonl or blouse t>\d.) f poat free. 


as to 







on each 



i-k;. 4. 

still another coat which I saw during my 
Paris ramble, which was of the same colour 
and material, but the revers fronts and also 
a V-shaped back yoke were of loosely woven 
cotton cloth of pink Paisley, lined with pale 
blue satin and finished with blue cords. 

Dainty evening reticules, in all sorts of 
shapes and sizes, are very popular, made in 
gold or silver tinsel cloth, embroidered with 
coloured silks or worked in beaded flower 
designs. For afternoon visits the French- 
woman shows a predilection for black satin 
or velvet bags, but for morning shopping the 
large leather handbag reigns supreme. 

Smart little French girls, out with their 
nurses, are universally coated in black satin 
ornamented with a little silk braid, or left 
severely plain. The white satin lining, how- 
ever, and suggestion of white lace frillies 
successfully dismisses any idea of sombre- 
ne&s, and indeed looks extremely smart. 

To see young girls of ten or twelve— in 
fact, of all ages from babyhood — in white veils 
when the weather is very inclement always 
strikes the English eye as rather strange ; but 
then a good complexion, of course, is a great 
point with our French cousins, who believe 

Digitized by Lr< 

FIG. 5. 

that this can only be ensured by careful 
attention from infancy. 

A new note of colour combinations is 
struck in the dress example of Fig. 3, 
which is fashioned of nickel grey cloth, 
having a silk stripe of the same shade. Satin 
bands of lichen green form an effective con- 
trast, and the pretty white lace neck-finish 
completes a very original, yet simple, house 

Quite a novelty is Fig, 5, and specially 
appealing to women who like to wear some- 
thing actually made by themselves, when that 
something can he made without any trouble, 
is the one piece shirt-blouse shown on this 
page. It would look especially smart in a 
silk tartan or Paisley panne. 

Millinery modes will not change per- 
ceptibly till next month, when manufacturers 
have many shapes in store for the fabrication 
of flower toques. For the present we must 
be content with new creations still on 
wintry li mgjna|from 




A diversion from the tall tam-o'-shanter 
toque with upturned brim is shown on 
this page, where it is turned downwards 
to show a cabuchon of gold braid, com- 
pletely filling the width of the velvet brim 
on the left. 

The hat shown in our sketch 
is still of the buck mm variety, 
covered with stretched satin of a 
moonlight-blue shade, the under- 
brim being faced with black satin. 
Gold cording is wound five times 
round the crown, surmounted 

by two narrow lengths of grey fur t while two huge roses of pewter grey gauze decorate 
each side. For de mi-evening wear, white or pale pink velvet ones are substituted for 
thesta latter 

by Google 

Original from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



by Google 

Original from 




Tke Adventure of tne Red Circle. 


Illustrated ty H. M. Brock, R,L, ^ Joseph Simpson, R.BA. 

ELL, Mrs. Warren, I cannot 
^tu that you have any par- 
ticular cause for uneasiness, 
nor do I understand why 
I, whose lime is of some 
value, should interfere in the 
matter. I really have other 
thbgs to engage me." So spoke Sherlock 
Holmes, and turned back to the great scrap- 
book in which he was arranging and indexing 
some of his recent material. 

But the landlady had the pertinacity, and 
also the cunning, of her sex. She held her 
ground firmly. 

4t You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine 
last year/' she said — " Mr. Fairdale Hobbs/ 1 
11 Ah j yes — a simpie matter," 
u But he would never cease talking of it — 

VoLxli-33. Copyright, lyci, by 

your kindness, sir, and the way in which you 
brought light into the darkness. I remem- 
bered his words when I was in doubt and 
darkness myself. I know you could if you 
only would/' 

Holmes was accessible upon the side of 
flattery, and also, to do him justice, upon 
the side of kindliness. The two forces made 
him lay down his gum-brush with a sigh of 
resignation and push back his chair. 

11 Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear 
about it, then. You don't object to tobacco, 
I take it ? Thank you, Watson — the matches ! 
You are uneasy, as I understand, because 
your new lodger remains in his room and you 
cannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. 
Warren, if I were your lodger you often 
would notifftgiffBl fpr ir wceks on end," 

ArU,M ffiWffi3ftY OF MICHIGAN 



" No doubt, sir ; but this is different. It 
frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for 
fright. To hear his quick step moving here 
and moving there from early morning to 
late at night, and yet never to catch so much 
as a glimpse of him — it's more than I can 
stand. My husband is as nervous over it 
as I am, but he is out at his work all day, 
while I get no rest from it. What is he hiding 
for ? What has he done ? Except for the 
girl, I am all alone in the house with him, and 
it's more than my nerves can stand." 

Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, 
thin fingers upon the woman's shoulder. He 
had an almort hypnotic power of soothing 
when he wished. The scared look faded 
from her eyes, and her agitated features 
smoothed into their usual commonplace. 
She sat down in the chair which he had 

*' If I take it up I must understand every 
detail," said he. " Take time to consider. 
The smallest point may be the most essential. 
You say that the man came ten days ago, 
and paid you for a fortnight's board and 
lodging ? " 

" He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty 
shillings a week. There is a small sitting- 
room and bedroom, and all complete, at the 
top of the house." 

" Well ? " 

" He said, ' I'll pay you five pounds a 
week if I can have it on my own terms.' 
I'm a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren 
earns little, and the money meant much to 
me. He took out a ten-pound note, and he 
held it out to me then and there. i You can 
have the same every fortnight for a long 
time to come if you keep the terms,' he said. 
' If not, I'll have no more to do with you.' " 

" What were the terms ? " 

" Well, sir, they were that he was to have 
a key of the house. That was all right. 
Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was 
to be left entirely to himself, and never, 
upon any excuse, to be disturbed." 

" Nothing wonderful in that, surely ? " 

" Not in reason, sir. But this is out of 
all reason. He has been there for ten days, 
and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl 
has once set eyes upon him. We can hear 
that quick step of his pacing up and down, 
up and down, night, morning, and noon ; 
but except on that first night he has never 
once gone out of the house." 

" Oh, he went out the first night, did he ? " 

" Yes, sir, and returned very late — after 
we were all in bed. He told me after he had 
taken the rooms x\\-?x he would do so, and 


asked me not to bar the door. I heard him 
come up the stair after midnight." 

" But his meals ? " 

" It was his particular direction that we 
should always, when he rang, leave his meal 
upon a chair outside his door. Then he rings 
again when he has finished, and we take it 
down from the same chair. If he wants 
anything else he prints it on a slip of paper 
and leaves it." 

" Prints it ? " 

" Yes, sir ; prints it in pencil. Just the 
word, nothing more. Here's one I brought 
to show you — SOAP. Here's another — 
MATCH. This is one he left the first morn- 
ing— DAILY GAZETTE. I leave that paper 
with his breakfast every morning." 

" Dear me, Watson," said Holmes, staring 
with great curiosity at the slips of fools- 
cap which the landlady had handed to him, 
" this is certainly a little unusual. Seclusion 
I can understand ; but why print ? Print- 
ing is a clumsy process. Why not write ? 
What would it suggest, Watson ? " 

" That he desired to conceal his hand- 

" But why ? What can it matter to him 
that his landlady should have a word of his 
writing ? Still, it may be as you say. Then, 
again, why such laconic messages ? " 

" I cannot imagine." 

" It opens a pleasing field for intelligent 
speculation. The words are written with a 
broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not 
unusual pattern. You will observe that the 
paper is torn away at the side here after 
the printing was done, so that the ' S ' of 
* SOAP ' is partly gone. Suggestive, Watson, 
is it not ? " 

" Of caution ? " 

" Exactly. There was evidently some 
mark, some thumb-print, something which 
might give a clue to the person's identity. 
Now, Mrs. Warren, you say that the man 
was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What 
age would he be ? " 

" Youngish, sir — not over thirty." 

" Well, can you give me no further indica- 
tions ? " 

" He spoke good English, sir, and yet I 
thought he was a foreigner by his accent." 

" And he was well dressed ? " 

" Very smartly dressed, sir — quite the 
gentleman. Dark clothes — nothing you 
would note." 

11 He gave no name ? " 

" No, sir." 

" And has had no letters or callers ? " 

" None." 




" But surely you or the girl enter his room 

of a morning ? " 

" No, sir; he looks after himself entirely/' 
" Dear me ! that is certainly remarkable. 

What about his luggage ? " 

The landlady drew an envelope from her 
bag ; from it she shook out two burnt 
matches and a cigarette-end upon the 

"They were on his tray this morning* I 



" He had one big brown bag with him— 
nothing else." 

" Well j we don't seem to have much 
material to help us. Do you say nothing has 
come out of that room — absolutely nothing?" 

Digitized by VjOOv IC 

brought them because 1 had heard that you 
can read great things out oE small ones," 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 

a F p/here [ s nothing here," said he- M The 
matched3|j^jft£rifFi3$)|tff5e, been used to light 




cigarettes. That is obvious from the short- 
ness of the burnt end. Half the match is 
consumed in lighting a pipe or a cigar. But, 
dear me ! this cigarette stub is certainly 
remarkable. The gentleman was bearded 
and moustached, you say ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" I don't understand that. I should say 
that only a clean-shaven man could have 
smoked this. Why, Watson, even your 
modest moustache would have been singed." 

" A holder ? " I suggested. 

" No, no ; the end is matted. I suppose 
there could not be two people in your rooms, 
Mrs. Warren ? " 

u No, sir. He eats so little that I often 
wonder it can keep life in one." 

" Well, I think we must wait for a little 
more material. After all, you have nothing 
to complain of. You have received your 
rent, and he is not a troublesome lodger, 
though he is certainly an unusual one. He 
pays you well, and if he chooses to lie con- 
cealed it is no direct business of yours. We 
have no excuse for an intrusion upon his 
privacy until we have some reason to think 
that there is a guilty reason for it. I've 
taken up the matter, and I won't lose sight 
of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, 
and rely upon my assistance if it should be 

" There are certainly some points of interest 
in this case, Watson," he remarked, when the 
landlady had left us. " It may, of course, 
be trivial — individual eccentricity ; or it 
may be very much deeper than appears on 
the surface. The first thing that strikes one 
is the obvious possibility that the person 
now in the rooms may be entirely different 
from the one who engaged them." 

" Why should you think so ? " 

" Well, apart from this cigarette-end, was 
it not suggestive that the only time the 
lodger went out was immediately after his 
taking the rooms ? He came back — or some- 
one came back — when all witnesses were 
out of the way. We have no proof that the 
person who came back was the person who 
went out. Then, again, the man who took 
the rooms spoke English well. This other, 
however, prints ' match ' when it should 
have been * matches/ I can imagine that 
the word was taken out of a dictionary, 
which would give the noun but not the plural. 
The laconic style may be to conceal the 
absence of knowledge of English. Yes, 
Watson, there are good reasons to suspect 
that there has been a substitution of lodgers." 

44 But for what possible end ? " 

" Ah ! there lies our problem. There 
is one rather obvious line of investigation." 
He took down the great book in which, day 
by day, he filed the agony columns of the 
various London journals. " Dear me ! " 
said he, turning over the pages, " what a 
chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings ! What 
a rag-bag of singular happenings ! But 
surely the most valuable hunting-ground 
that ever was given to a student of the 
unusual ! This person is alone, and cannot 
be approached by letter without a breach of 
that absolute secrecy which is desired. How 
is any news or any message to reach him from 
without ? Obviously by advertisement 
through a newspaper. There seems no other 
way, and fortunately we need concern our- 
selves with the one paper only. Here are 
the Daily Gazette extracts of the last fort- 
night. * Lady with a black boa at Prince's 
Skating Club ' — that we may pass. ' Surely 
Jimmy will not break his mother's heart ' — 
that appears to be irrelevant. ' If the lady 
who fainted in the Brixton bus ' — she does 
not interest me. * Every day my heart 

longs ' Bleat, Watson — unmitigated 

bleat ! Ah ! this is a little more possible. 
Listen to this : ' Be patient. Will find 
some sure means of communication. Mean- 
while, this column. — G.' That is two days 
after Mrs. Warren's lodger arrived. It sounds 
plausible, does it not ? The mysterious one 
could understand English, even if he could 
not print it. Let us see if we can pick up 
the trace again. Yes, here we are — three 
days later. * Am making successful arrange- 
ments. Patience and prudence. The clouds 
will pass. — G.' Nothing for a week after 
that. Then comes something much more 
definite : ' The path is clearing. If I 
find chance signal message remember code 
agreed — one A, two B, and so on. You will 
hear soon. — G.' That was in yesterday's 
paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. It's 
all very appropriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. 
If we wait a little, Watson, I don't doubt 
that the affair will grow more intelligible." 

So it proved ; for in the morning I found 
my friend standing on the hearthrug with 
his back to the fire, and a smile of complete 
satisfaction upon his face. 

" How's this, Watson ? " he cried, picking 
up the paper from the table. " * High red 
house with white stone facings. Third floor. 
Second window left. After dusk. — G.' That 
is definite enough. I think after breakfast 
we must make a little reconnaissance of Mrs. 
Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren ! 
what news do you bring us this morning ? " 





Our client had suddenly burst into the 
room with an explosive energy which told 
of some new and momentous development. 

4f It's a police matter } Mr. Holmes ! " she 
cried. " I'll have no more of It ! He shall 
pack out of that with his baggage. I would 
have gone straight up and told him so, only 
I thought it was hut fair to you to take your 
opinion first. But I'm at the end of my 
pa tie nee ; and when it comes to knocking 
my old man about s ' 

ht Knot king Ml Warren about ? " 

" Using him roughly, anyway." 

so he took a bus home, and there he lies now 
on the sofa, while I came straight round to 
tell you what had happened." 

" Most interesting," said Holmes, " Did 
he observe the appearance of these men — 
did he hear them talk ? " 

"No; he is clean dazed. He just knows 
that he was lifted up as if by magic and 
dropped as if by magic. Two at least were 
in it, and maybe three." 

" And you connect this attack with your 

" Well, we've lived there fifteen years and 


li But who used him roughly ? " 
" Ah ! that's what we want to know ! 
It was this morning, sir. Mr. Warren is a 
time-keeper at Morton and Waylight's, in 
Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out 
of the house before seven, Well, this morning 
he had not got ten paces down the road 
when two men came up behind him. threw a 
coat over his head, and bundled him into a 
cab that was beside the kerb. They drove 
him an hour, and then opened the door and 
shot him out. He lay in the roadway so 
shaken in his wits that he never saw what 
became of the cab. When he picked himself 
up he found he was on Hampstead Heath ; 

no such happenings ever came before, I've 
had enough of him. Money's not everything. 
I'll have him out of my house before the day 
is done/' 

" Wait a bil 7 Mrs. Warren, Do nothing 
rash, f begin to think that this affair may 
be very much more important than appeared 
at first sight. It is clear now that some 
danger is threatening your lodger. It is 
equally clear that his rnemies, lying in wait 
for him near your door, mistook your husband 
for him in the foggy morning light* On 
discovering their mistake they released him. 
What thpv would have done had it not been 
a mistake' we can only conjecture," 




" Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes ? " 

" I have a great fancy to see this lodger of 
yours, Mrs. Warren.' ' 

" I don't see how that is to be managed, 
unless you break n the door. I always hear 
him unlock it as I go down the stair after I 
leave the tray." 

" He has to take the tray in. Surely we 
could conceal ourselves and see him do it." 

The landlady thought for a moment. 

" Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. 
I could arrange a looking-glass, maybe, and 
if you were behind the door " 

" Excellent ! " said Holmes. " When does 
he lunch ? " 

" About one, sir." 

" Then Dr. Watson and I will come round 
in time. For the present, Mrs. Warren, 

At half-past twelve we found ourselves 
upon the steps of Mrs. Warren's house — a 
high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme 
Street, a narrow thoroughfare at the north- 
east side of the British Museum. Standing 
as it does near the corner of the street, it 
commands a view down Howe Street, with 
its more pretentious houses. Holmes pointed 
with a chuckle to one of these, a row of 
residential flats, which projected so that they 
could not fail to catch the eye. 

" See, Watson ! " said he. " ' High red 
house with stone facings.' There is the 
signal station all right. We know the place, 
and we know the code ; so surely our task 
should be simple. There's a * To Let ' card 
in that window. It is evidently an empty 
flat to which the confederate has access. 
Well, Mrs. Warren, what now ? " 

" I have it all ready for you. If you 
will both come up and leave your boots 
below on the landing, I'll put you there 

It was an excellent hiding-place which she 
had arranged. The mirror was so placed 
that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly 
see the door opposite. We had hardly 
settled down in it, and Mrs. Warren left us, 
when a distant tinkle announced that our 
mysterious neighbour had rung. Presently 
the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it 
down upon a chair beside the closed door, 
and then, treading heavily, departed. Crouch- 
ing together in the angle of the door, we kept 
our eyes fixed upon the mirror. Suddenly, 
as the landlady's footsteps died away, there 
was the creak of a turning key, the handle 
revolved, and two thin hands darted out and 
lifted the tray from the chair. An instant 
later it was hurriedly replaced, and I caught 

DigiiizM by viOOQK 

a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face 
glaring at the narrow opening of the box- 
room. Then the door crashed to, the key 
turned once more, and all was silence. Holmes 
twitched my sleeve, and together we stole 
down the stair. 

" I will call again in the evening," said he 
to the expectant landlady. " I think, Watson, 
we can discuss this business better in our own 

" My surmise, as you saw, proved to be 
correct," said he, speaking from the depths 
of his easy-chair. " There has been a sub- 
stitution of lodgers. What I did not foresee 
is that we should find a woman, and no 
ordinary woman, Watson." 

" She saw us." 

" Well, she saw something to alarm her. 
That is certain. The general sequence of 
events is pretty clear, is it not ? A couple 
seek refuge in London from a very terrible 
and instant danger. The measure of that 
danger is the rigour of their precautions. 
The man, who has some work which he must 
do, desires to leave the woman in absolute 
safety while he does it. It is not an easy 
problem, but he solved it in an original 
fashion, and so effectively that her presence 
was not even known to the landlady who 
supplies her with food. The printed messages, 
as is now evident, were to prevent her sex 
being discovered by her writing. The man 
cannot come near the woman, or he will 
guide their enemies to her. Since he cannot 
communicate with her direct, he has recourse 
to the agony column of a paper. So far all 
is clear." 

" But what is at the root of it ? " 

" Ah, yes, Watson — severely practical, as 
usual ! What is at the root of it all ? Mrs. 
Warren's whimsical problem enlarges some- 
what and assumes a more sinister aspect 
as we proceed. This much we can say : that 
it is no ordinary love escapade. You saw 
the woman's face at the sign of danger. We 
have heard, too, of the attack upon the land- 
lord, which was undoubtedly meant for the 
lodger. These alarms, and the desperate 
need for secrecy, argue that the matter is 
one of life or death. The attack upon Mr. 
Warren further shows that the enemy, who- 
ever they are, are themselves not aware of 
the substitution of the female lodger for the 
male. It is very curious and complex, 

" Why should you go further in it ? What 
have you to gain from it ? " 

u What, indeed ? It is Art for Art's sake, 
Watson. I suppose when you doctored 





.^ptt:tifrp. B QF the hox: Ktx>MOriginal from 



you found yourself studying cases without 
thought of a fee ? " 

" For my education, Holmes." 

" Education never ends, Watson. It is 
a series of lessons with the greatest for the 
last. This is an instructive case. There 
is neither money nor credit in it, and yet one 
would wish to tidy it up. When dusk comes 
we should find ourselves one stage advanced 
in our investigation.'' 

When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, 
the gloom of a London winter evening had 
thickened into one grey curtain, a dead 
monotone of colour, broken only by the 
sharp yellow squares of the windows and 
the blurred haloes of the gas - lamps. 
As we peered from the darkened sitting- 
room of the lodging-house, one more dim 
light glimmered high up through the 

" Someone is moving in that room," said 
Holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager 
face thrust forward to the window-pane. 
" Yes, I can see his shadow. There he is 
again ! He has a candle in his hand. Now 
he is peering across. He wants to be sure 
that she is on the look-out. Now he begins 
to flash. Take the message also, Watson, 
that we may check each other. A single 
flash — that is ' A/ surely. Now, then. How 
many did you make it 2 Twenty. So did 
I. That should mean * TV A T — that's 
intelligible enough ! Another c T.' Surely 
this is the beginning of a second word. Now, 
then — T E N T A. Dead stop. That can't 
be all, Watson? 'ATTENTA' gives 
no sense. Nor is it any better as three 
words— ' AT. TEN. TA,' unless 'T.A.' 
are a person's initials. There he goes again ! 
What's that? ATTE— why, it is the 
same message over again. Curious, Watson, 
very curious ! Now he is off once more ! 
A T — why, he is repeating it for the third 
time. 'ATTENTA' three times ! How 
often will he repeat it ? No, that seems to 
be the finish. He has withdrawn from the 

window. What do you make of it, 
Watson ? " 

" A cipher message, Holmes." 

My companion gave a sudden chuckle of 
comprehension. " And not a very obscure 
cipher, Watson," said he. " Why, of course, 
it is Italian ! The ' A ' means that it is 
addressed to a woman. * Beware ! Beware ! 
Beware ! ' How's that, Watson ? " 

" I believe you have hit it." 

" Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent 
message, thrice repeated to make it more so. 
But beware of what ? Wait a bit ; he is 
coming to the window once more." 

Again we saw the dim silhouette of a 
crouching man and the whisk of the small 
flame across the window, as the signals were 
renewed. They came more rapidly than 
before — so rapid that it was hard to follow 

"'PERICOLO' — ' pericolo ' —Eh, 
what's that, Watson ? Danger, isn't it ? 
Yes, by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he 
goes again ! * P E R I.' Halloa, what on 
earth " 

The light had suddenly gone out, the 
glimmering square of window had dis- 
appeared, and the third floor formed a dark 
band round the lofty building, with its tiers 
of shining casements. That last warning 
cry had been suddenly cut short. How, 
and by whom ? The same thought occurred 
on the instant to us both. Holmes sprang 
up from where he crouched by the window. 

" This is serious, Watson," he cried. 
" There is some devilry going forward ! 
Why should such a message stop in such a 
way ? I should put Scotland Yard in touch 
with this business — and yet, it is too pressing 
for us to leave." 

" Shall I go for the police ? " 

" We must define the situation a little 
more clearly. It may bear some more inno- 
cent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us 
go across ourselves and see what we can make 
of it." 

(To be concluded next month.) 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 


(new series) — II. 

Illustrated by E. T. Reed. 

'/■■/■ ■/■■//■ ■■''/ 


A STARTLING illustration of 
the the mutability of life at West- 

sweep of minster is found in the fact 
the scythe, that in the House elected in 
January, 19 10, there sat only 
six men who were returned to Westminster 
at the General Election of 1874. They are 
Arthur Balfour, Lord Charles Beresford, Mr. 
Chaplin, Sir Charles Dilke, Lord Claud 
Hamilton — come back after a long interval of 
years — and Thomas Burt, doyen of Labour 
members. More appalling than the with- 
drawal of old members from the Parlia- 
mentary arena, which might be voluntary or 
accidental, is the final wiping off from the slate 
of the names of the men who thirty-seven 
years ago filled the House of Commons with 
the full tide of active life. Including the 
sitting members named above, I count 
only a 'score of members of the 1874 Parlia- 

ment who are still alive. Among Conserva- 
tives (now known as Unionists) are the Earl 
of Wemyss, who, if not younger than ever, 
is not less ready to instruct his fellow-men 
than was the Lord Elcho of the early 
'seventies ; Sir Michael Hicks Beach, now 
Viscount St. Aldwyn ; the Earl of Erne, a 
Conservative Whip from 1876-85, known as 
Lord Crichton ; Lord Cross, the Duke of 
Northumberland, David Plunket (Lord Rath- 
more), Sir William Hart Dyke, relegated to 
private life by the inconstancy of his con- 
stituents ; Lord George Hamilton, who has 
given up to Deal Castle what was meant for 
mankind ; Sir John Hay, whose handsome 
presence was years ago withdrawn from 
Westminster ; and Mr. Agg-Gardner, who 
finds private business sufficient to monopolize 
sterling capacity. 

Of M.P.s whofwWft in 1874 ranked as 




Liberals it is odd to notice that the majority 
still living are to-day to be found in the 
House of Lords. 

Among members whom I 
" all, all listened to and watched in 
are gone." this second Parliament of my 
experience were many whose 
names are familiar in history, some finding in 
the then new Parliament a stepping-stone to 
higher things. Facing each other across the 
table were Disraeli and Gladstone, Stafford 
Northcote and Harrington, Richard Cross, a 
model Chairman of Quarter Sessions, and 
W. E. Forster, happily described by Frank 
Hill as the best stage Yorkshireman who ever 
appeared in the Parliamentary drama ; 
Gathorne - Hardy, breathless with flow of 
his tempestuous eloquence ; Bob Lowe, 
scornful of his fellow-men ; Ward Hunt, of 
Falstaffian girth, just nominated First Lord 
of the Admiralty, first in the field with dis- 
covery, of late years grown familiar, that 
the boasted British Navy is composed of 
" dummy ships/' " a fleet on paper " ; 
Goschen, not dreaming how or why or with 
what consequences he upon a day should have 
come to be " forgotten " ; Lord Henry 
Lennox, for whom Disraeli, coming into 
power, made haste to provide; William 
Harcourt, halting between his admiration 
for Disraeli and his loyalty to Gladstone ; 
Sclater - Booth, sharing with Knatchbull- 
Hugessen self-consciousness of the mediocrity 
Randolph Churchill discovered to be in- 
separable from double - barrelled names ; 
Lord John Manners, gracefully ambling his 
way through Parliamentary life ; Campbell- 
Bannerman, a comparatively obscure ex- 
Financial Secretary of the Treasury ; W. H. 
Smith and Hugh Childers, both devoid of 
the fire of genius, akin in the quality, some- 
times more successful in life, of plodding 

These, the Ins and the Outs, 
a pyrrhic sat on the two front benches. 
phalanx. Scattered about others re- 
served for unofficial members 
were Sir Watkin Wynn, the Prince in Wales, 
round whom lingers tradition that, hurrying 
off from the hunting-field and catching a 
fortuitous train at Ruabon, he arrived just in 
time to take part in a critical division, a cloak 
thrown over his shoulders ineffectually con- 
cealing a scarlet coat and white breeches ; 
Sir Walter Barttelot, who, with characteristic 
generosity, extended a patronizing hand to 
Joseph Chamberlain when that dreaded Radi- 
cal, returned by Birmingham, made his maiden 
speech. " If the honourable 


said the worthy baronet, " will always address 
the House with the same quietness and the 
same intelligence he has displayed on this 
occasion, I can assure him the House of Com- 
mons will always be ready to listen to him " ; 
J. R. Mowbray, not yet Sir John, best type of 
the Conservative country gentleman ; Arthur 
Kavanagh, legless and armless, carried in from 
behind the Speaker's Chair on his servant's 
back and dropped at a convenient spot 
at the end of the bench behind Ministers ; 
Baillie Cochrane, last of the Dandies ; J. W. 
Henley, an honoured relic of the past ; Sir 
William Edmonstone, known as " the 
Admiral," who, when Parnell, Biggar, or 
others of the Irish Party spoke, used to turn 
his back upon the visitation and vigorously 
fan himself with a copy of the Orders of the 
Day ; Sir Henry Wolff; unacquainted with, 
save by his height of six feet four, the yet un- 
known Lord Randolph Churchill ; Astley, " the 
Mate," well known at Epsom and Newmarket; 
Lyon Playfair, later to become Chairman of 
Committees, later still a peer ; John Walter, 
of the Times ; C. P. Villiers, modestly conceal- 
ing the amount of his income and drawing 
his pension as a poverty-stricken ex-Minister ; 
George Osborne Morgan, not yet possessor of 
the brand-new portmanteau from which, 
proudly painted on the lid, his initials were, 
in the course of a railway journey, cut out by 
an irate Tory who could not bear sight of 
anything that recalled the existence of the 
G.O.M. ; Joseph Cowen, best of men, most 
eloquent of speakers ; Sir Henry Havelock, 
who cultivated a pleasing habit of expressing 
dissent from the political views and personal 
manners of ParnelPs following by acci- 
dentally, as it were, dropping bodily on their 
knees as he passed between the benches on 
his way to his seat ; Charles Monk, whose first 
appearance in a Dusty Miller suit was accepted 
as officially heralding the birth of summer ; 
Wilfrid Lawson, in the chrysalis state, a 
decidedly dull speaker, no one more surprised 
than himself when he emerged a butter- 
fly of wit and humour ; Sir Charles 
Foster, who spent the night in wander- 
ing round back benches, lobbies, and cor- 
ridors looking for his hat ; Roebuck, feeble in 
body but still snarling from the corner seat 
below the gangway, whence he had dis- 
established Dilwyn ; Henry Fawcett, blind 
Bartimeus from Hackney, led by an atten- 
dant to the corner seat flanking the chair of 
the Serjeant-at-Arms; and Sir Robert Peel, 
son and heir of the great Minister, whose 
appearance, dress, and manner bewildered 
the stranger with uncertainty as to whether 




he were a chef, a French colonel in mufti, or 
the ring-master of Sanger's Circus. 

These are faces and figures that crowd upon 
memory when I close my eyes and think of 
early days in the Commons, beginning when 
the Speaker took the Chair at half-past four 
in the afternoon, at the best of times 
lasted till one o'clock in the morning, with no 
interval save for a hasty supper cut from the 
old doorkeeper Wright's cold beef and ham. 
In respect of piquant per- 
sonality the House of Com- » 

mons to-day neither indivi- 
dually nor in the aggregate 
presents a parallel. 

Sir Rufus 

the attor- Isaacs enjoys 

ney-general the unique 

and the privilege of 

house of sitting in the 
lords. House of 
Co m m o n s 
albeit, in accordance with 
ancient statute, the House 
of Lords is his proper quarter 
in the Legislature. In his 
capacity as Attorney-General 
he, on the eve of the assembly 
of Parliament, received a 
writ calling upon him to 
attend the House of Lords. 
In olden times the business 
of the Attorney-General in 
connection with Parliament- 
ary affairs was to attend that 
Chamber and advise the 
Peers upon questions of law. 
So jealous was the Upper 
House of this right that when 
Sir Rufus's far-back pre- 
decessor, Sir Francis Bacon, 
upon election, took his seat 
in the House of Commons, 
a resolution, still to be found 
in the Journals, declared 
" Mr. Attorney - General 
Bacon remain in the House 
for this Parliament, but never any Attorney- 
General to serve in the Lower House in future." 

Like another Standing Order, passed about 
the same date, prohibiting under pains and 
penalties the publication and report of Par- 
liamentary proceedings, this Order, though 
unrevoked, has become obsolete. Nothing 
would more surprise noble lords than if one 
day the Attorney - General, carrying in his 
hand the writ summoning him to attend the 
Chamber, entered from behind the Woolsack 
and sat himself on the Ministerial bench. 

The attraction the House of 

the house Commons possesses for mem- 

of commons bers of the Bar as providing 

and the a sure and certain avenue to 

bench. promotion is testified afresh 

by the large number of what 
Disraeli used to call gentlemen of the long 
robe seated in the new Parliament. That 
prizes are plentiful is demonstrated by the 
fact that, of members of the Judicial Bench 


as constituted to-day, a fraction under one- 
half were at one time members of the House 
of Commons. It would be invidious to men- 
tion names, but it is a matter of common 
conviction and frequent assertion that some 
of these would never have reached the goal 
had they run the ordinary course of profes- 
sional business in the Law Courts. Whilst 
the adventure is tempting, its pursuit is not 
easy. After a hard day's work in court it is 
a grievous strain, physical and mental, to go 
straight 6H ri fiU r thc House of Commons and 




take a successful part in its exhausting busi- 
ness, which occasionally reaches its climax at 
the time of night when the busy barrister 
should be studying his briefs to be handled 
in court on the next morning. 

When the hopes of the Liberal Party were 
laid low by the dtb&cle at the polls in 1895, 
Mr + Asquithj above all things a practical 
man, returned to the task of earning his daily 
bread at the Ban Such a course was unpre- 
cedented on the part of an ex-Home Secretary. 
It was further criticized on the indisputable 
ground that a man who aimed at the highest 
prizes of political life must needs give up his 
nights and days to attendance on Parlia- 
mentary affairs. Some lookers-on } observing 
the ex-Home Secretary casually dropping in 
on his way home from the Law Courts, came 
to the conclusion that if he had not deliber- 
ately abandoned a political career, he was 
seriously handicapping himself in the race 
for the Premiership. Which shows the wis- 
dom of the axiom forbidding the practice of 
prophecy £l unless you know. 1 ' 

It is a circumstance that may probably be 

attributed to a preponderance of judicial 
aptitude among the Conservative party 
that, of the eighteen Judges out of thirty- 
seven who passed through the House of Com- 
mons on their way to the Bench, a consider- 
able majority were supporters of a Conserva- 
tive Government* In the Court of King's 
Bench, of eight Judges who were at one time 
or another eager to catch the Speaker's eye 
in the House of Commons, six are Conser- 
vatives and two Liberals. 

The House of Commons 
elected in January is still 
a sealed book, or at most 
only a few of the preliminary 
pages have been turned over. 
It may, for aught we know, number amongst 
new-comers a Peel, a Gladstone, a Disraeli, or 
a John Bright, That is matter of conjecture. 
What is certain is that it cannot well exceed 
its predecessor in lack of individuality of 
character or predominance of genius. It 
true its life was brief. But an excep- 



which a 
to the 

tionally prolonged Session, during 
great constitutional question was 
front, sufficed for opportunity. 

Like murder, genius will out. It was unre- 
cognizable among the new 
members of King Edward's 


] NCKEASKU, A JUtf tl^T 






last Parliament, Called hence by early doom, 
it came but to show how dull a lot at 
Westminster might bloom. Memory does 
not recall the name of a single member 
relumed for the first time in January of last 
year who gave promise of making his way 
to the Treasury [iench. Mr. F. E. Smith 
increased a reputation established by his 
maiden speech. But he was not a new 
member , the present House being the third 
in which he has found a place. 

The sympathetic eye, glancing 
a look over the Front Opposition 
ahead. Bench and surveying those 

behind it, wonders what Mr. 
Balfour will do when there is forced upon 
him the task of forming a Government* The 
poverty of the land is the more marked by 
comparison with the Front Opposition Bench 
in the other House. By striking coincidence 
it happens that whilst in public esteem and 
in abating ability the Opposition leaders in 
the Lords eclipse the group of statesmen on 
the other side of the Table, the condition 
of affairs is the reverse in the Commons, 
Whilst through many Parliaments the Ladder 
of the Opposition in the latter has not so 
nearly been left single-handed in the fight, 

we must go back to 1880 to find a Prime 
Minister supported by such a galaxy of 
Parliamentary capacity as that which^ with 
increasing esteem and admiration, owns a 
Leader in Mr. Asquith* Possibly the new 
Parliament^ when it gets into stride, may 
make the running faster. The extremist 
partisans would welcome a change that would 
lift, the Parliamentary coach out of the rut 
into which it has habitually fallen since , five 
years ago, the House of Commons was 
swamped by an overwhelming majority. 

Whilst in fundamental 
a chilling matters one House of Com- 
interlude, mons resembles another, each 
has its idiosyncrasies. The 
fact that a man has made a prominent 
and popular position for himself in one 
Parliament does not ensure inheritance of 
the advantage in its successor. This curious 
fact was prominently illustrated in the case 
of Mr. Balfour, when, after brief absence., 
he came back to lead the more than deci- 
mated Opposition in the Parliament elected in 
January, 1906. For a dozen years he had been 
the idol of the House of Commons. His graceful 
manner, his brilliant wit, his sparkling speech, 
captivated BBtfttl^TSHfrcely \ C6S completely 




than they commanded the allegiance of his 
own Party. His appearance at the Table 
was ever the signal for a welcoming cheer. 
His speech was followed by an entranced 
audience that missed no point. When he 
re-entered the House of Commons to find his 
once scorned, not infrequently humiliated, 
adversary, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, 
enthroned in his long familiar seat on the 
Treasury Bench, he discovered he had come 
into a land that knew not Arthur. 

When he rose to make his first speech 
from the Front Opposition Bench, new 
members, who numerically predominated, 
testified the keenest desire to hear him. 
For years they had read and heard of his 
personal charm, his commanding gift of Par- 
liamentary oratory. Possibly influenced by 
the strangeness of his surroundings and the 
novelty of his personal position, he fell short 
of his accustomed capacity. However it be, 
before he had been on his legs a quarter of 
an hour new members began to relax their 
attention. Presently there was a movement 
towards the door, and old members sat gaping 
at the unprecedented spectacle of the House 
steadily emptying whilst Arthur Balfour was 
on his legs. 

The simple explanation was that there 
was lacking the bond of quick sympathy 
between speaker and audience established 
in other circumstances. Mr. Balfour was 
quick to note the change, and resolute in 
determination to recapture his old position. 
He perceived that a manner appropriate to 
the master of legions, with a minority hope- 
lessly at his mercy, did not suit circumstances 
in which the relative positions were reversed. 
He became quieter in manner, less assertive, 
more solidly argumentative. He stooped 
to conquer, and, having won back his former 
mastery of the House, felt at liberty to resume 
something of his old gaiety of manner. 

Last Session presented two 

lord hugh scarcely less striking illustra- 

CECIL and tions of this undercurrent of 

" tommy " feeling running through a suc- 

bowles. cession of Parliaments. Lord 

Hugh Cecil and Mr. Gibson 

Bowles, defeated at the General Election of 

1906, came back in January, 1910, to the 

scene of former triumphs. Their return 

was welcomed with the assurance that they 

would, in accordance with former habits, 

do something to enliven proceedings. The 

expectation proved futile. It is true that 

towards the end of the Session Lord Hugh 

did something to justify his Parliamentary 

renown. To the last Mr. Bowles's failure was 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

as unbroken as, on the face of it, it seemed 
inexplicable. When he rose to give the 
House the advantage of his carefully-stored 
knowledge, his native sagacity, his deftly- 
prepared impromptus, members, after listen- 
ing awhile, yawned, stretched themselves, 
and presently sallied forth to see what sort 
of weather it was outside. 

Beyond the disposition noted on the part 
of new Parliaments to decline to take over 
ancient reputations, a special reason added 
to the discomfiture of these long-established 
favourites. During their former appearance 
they enjoyed the advantage of occupying a 
position of independence in the serried ranks 
of their Party. Even a mediocre member 
who criticizes the action of the Party he was 
returned to support, and with whom he sits, 
is certain of a hearing. It is one of the 
commonest devices of unscrupulous ambition. 
Neither Lord Hugh Cecil nor Mr. Bowles is 
a mediocrity. On the contrary, they were 
among the most effective debaters of the 

Returning to the familiar scene, Lord Hugh 
found that, his friends being out of office, 
opposition must needs be directed against the 
other side, a quite commonplace business. 
As for Mr. Bowles, he characteristically 
introduced a touch of novelty by seating 
himself among the Liberals. His quips and 
cranks were now (for the time, at least) 
necessarily directed against the Party oppo- 
site. Like the Jackdaw of Rheims under- 
going the discipline of the Church, they were 
not a penny the worse. What " Tommy " 
said in current circumstances did not matter 
a brass farthing. They did not even take the 
trouble to listen, much less to reply. Thus the 
embers of his speech, lacking the refreshment 
of a passing breeze, ignominiously smouldered. 
Doubtless, had the House of Commons to 
which he was returned as Liberal member 
for King's Lynn run its full course, Mr. 
Bowles would have regained something of 
his old position by turning and rending his 
esteemed Leaders on the Treasury Bench, 
as was his custom of an afternoon when it 
was tenanted by Mr. Arthur Balfour and his 
colleagues. That could scarcely be done in 
the very first Session of the Parliament in 
view of whose election he had found salvation. 
In the following year or the year after the 
game might be played. Then 

Came the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 
And slit the thin-spun thread 

of the life of the young Parliament. Oppor- 
tunity fled, and the new House of Commons 
does not provide renewal. 






Illustrated by W. R. S. Stott. 

town house 
waistcoat pocket 

ICK CARSTAIRS sat, leaning 
forward, in a taxi-cab, his eyes 
fixed on the changing pano- 
rama of shops and houses, 
waiting for the moment when 
he could spring out in front of 
his brother-in-law's imposing 
Fear kept him company. His 
held a pencilled note : 

Come at once. — Nell." The brief sentence 
contained no definite hint of trouble, but the 
man understood. With which of the weapons 
in a man's armoury could he defend his only 
sister ? Fear whispered terrible suggestions. 

Before the cab really slowed down he opened 
the door, sprang out recklessly, thrust coins 
in the driver's hand, and rushed up steps to 
look angrily at the closed door. It opened 
promptly to his imperative summons. He 
hardly glanced at the servant, but hurried 
towards the fine staircase to his sister's 
sitting-room, which she hated to hear called 
a boudoir. 

" Sir, my mistress particularly desired you 
should be shown into the library." 

Impatient feet had to follow the man- 
servant across the hall and down a passage, 
which led to a room lined with books, but 
seldom used by anyone. 

Mrs. Ellerton was there, waiting for the 
brother she had summoned. She stood in an 
elaborate, shimmering evening gown, though 
a massive clock told sonorously the hour was 
only a quarter to seven. Something in the 
tense rigidity of her graceful figure revealed 
immediately there could be no closing of the 
door on fear. 

" Oh, Dick, Dick ! " she whispered, as the 
servant left them alone, " I am in desperate 

He took her hands and held them in a firm 
clasp while he tried to smile, murmuring in a 
light tone something about the perfection of 
the dress she wore, as if the only trouble of 
the woman in that luxurious room could be 
concerned with the success or failure of her 

" Ah, don't waste time ! In less than an 
hour I have guests to receive — his people, his 

family, and he Oh, John is going to 

do something dreadful, and I can't bear it." 

Eleanor Ellerton shook her hands free and 
crossed the floor restlessly. Her brother 
followed, wheeled forward a big chair, and 
spoke gently. 

" Come, sit down, Nell ; you are trembling. 
I came the moment I had your message. 
What is the matter ? Isn't it just a row of 
some sort ? " 

The woman's lips parted in a bitter smile. 
" A row ? John would never descend to a 
vulgar quarrel. It is that which terrifies, 
makes me a coward. And I don't know 
how to explain." 

Dick made her sit down. " Something 
has happened, then, about which any ordinary 
everyday sort of fellow would make a row ? 
Is that it, Nell ? " 

The answer was a faint whispered " Yes." 

" And you will tell me all about it ? I 
always yarned to you in the old days at home. 
I can't remember that you shared my splendid 
capacity for getting into rows." 

The words brought a sob to her lips. 

" I must not cry ; I dare not cry. His 
people would see at once. Dick, I don't 
know how to explain." 

Once more, sitting on the arm of the big 
chair, he referred to bygone days. She 
checked him with a sharp cry. 

" Don't, Dick, don't ! I can't bear too 
much talk about the days before I married. 
I suppose " — her dark eyes grew very wistful 
— " I suppose you could not take me away for 

a little while, a few months, until he — he " 

It seemed impossible to complete the sentence. 

" My dear old girl, I am going next week 
to one of the most pestilential spots in South 
America. Do you imagine John would allow 
you to go where fever and ague are daily 
incidents ? I could not let you run risks." 

Her fingers, showing superb jewels, the 
gifts of a wealthy husband, caught piteously 
at one of his strong hands. 

" Why could we not see into the future, see 
that you were to become rich and successful, 
an engineer talked about by the world ? 
Then I need not have married," 




" Look here," said the brother, gently, 
" you are not telling me this trouble. Has 
it anything to do with Mertyn ? " 

She bent her graceful head and would not 
meet his eyes. 

" So Mertyn has been making love to you, 
forgetting that you are a married woman ? 
He always has made love to you, more or 
less, since you were in your teens, but " 

11 He did not make love," she interrupted, 

breathlessly. " We just Oh, it is hard 

to explain." 

" Tell me everything, Nell. Mertyn was 
in my rooms when your note came." 

"Ah!" Warm colour flooded her pale 

" He was not coherent," explained Dick. 
" Talked about offering Ellerton satisfaction, 
making reparation. But in these matter-of- 
fact days it is difficult to find a way." 

" But we have done no wrong. Until Hugh 
— Captain Mertyn came home this time, I 
never understood how much he loved me. He 
was so broken to find me a married woman 
that I wanted to comfort him. I wrote him 

" Broken ? " repeated the brother. " I 
should not have thought Mertyn would come 
whining to you. It was a most unlucky 
chance that the letters telling him of your 
marriage never reached him." 

" This morning I wrote for the last time, 
a good-bye letter. He leaves town to-night 
on his way back to Persia, and I said — I said 
— everybody had something to bear, some 
grief, a secret grief. I said he knew I had, and 

— and " She covered her eyes from his 

glance. " I had promised he should come 
and say good-bye — have tea with me for the 
last time, but that letter was to tell him not 
to come. I said we had better not meet 

again. Well " The speaker's lips closed 

with a gasp of pain. 

" But he came ? " 

Mrs. Ellerton sprang to her feet and began 
to pace the floor again. 

" Yes, he came, for he never received the 
letter. I did not understand that when they 
came to tell me he was in the drawing-room. 
I fancied he was so anxious to say good-bye, 
to see me once more, that he risked every- 
thing, even my displeasure. Then I — I — 
I — said good-bye. Don't speak, Dick ; don't 
move. I said good-bye to him as I say it 
to you. When I turned John stood in the 
doorway with my letter, open, in his hand." 

44 You mean, Nell, that you kissed 
Mertyn ? " 

She stood wjth her back te him so that 

by K: 



he barely caught the whispered assenting 
44 Yes." Dick went to her, slipping his hand 
through her arm. 

44 And then there was a scene ? John sent 
you away and had it out with Mertyn ? " 

Her head drooped wearily until it touched 
his shoulder. 

44 No." He felt her shudder. " John made 
him look contemptible and me too. Then he 
let him go. Before my eyes, slowly, deliber- 
ately, John folded up my letter and put it in 
his pocket. In answer to my entreaties, my 
prayers, he declared he had nothing to say 
then, not at the moment. But he reminded 
me we expect guests to-night, a party of his 
near relations in honour of his mother's 
birthday. Suddenly I understood : he intends 
to humiliate me before his people, and I can't 
bear it." 

44 Come, Nell, you are frightening yourself 
as you did in old days over shadows on the 
nursery wall. John is not a cad." 

44 His people have never liked me," she 
moaned. 44 Always thought me proud. You 

know, Dick, I did marry John because 

Must I put the truth into words ? " 

44 You married him because he could give 
you fine frocks and jewels — all the things a 
pretty woman wants. Don't shrink, Nell ; 
I'm not blaming you." 

She moved away from him, throwing up 
her arms with a tragic gesture. Notwith- 
standing her radiant dress, the flash of the 
jewels she wore, Eleanor Ellerton looked the 
incarnation of sorrow, of despair. 

44 1 have been true to John, but he 
believes " 

Her brother sprang forward and caught her 
arms. 44 Nell, don't. You make me desperate 
when you talk like this. Of course, you have 
only been foolish. Don't I know my sister ? 
You are nervous and exaggerate John's 

44 Oh ! " she wailed, " I wish it were that. 
But I am frightened, Dick. I am his wife, 
but I have never been really necessary to 
him, not to the real John. He is so success- 
ful and important ; the world thinks much of 
him. Politics have absorbed him. He does 
not understand what it means to a woman 
when she feels she is essential, necessary to 
her husband. And Hugh — I mean Captain 
Mertyn — found the slightest thing I said or 
did interesting." 

Dick Carstairs coaxed his sister to rest in 
the chair again. 

44 Nell, I can't believe John will do anything 
to humiliate you before his people. I'll have 
a talk with him and make it all right," 




She shook her head. " He will not see you 
or me. He is upstairs, locked in his dress- 
ing-room, where he often writes now. That 
is why I did not see you in my own sitting- 
room. I did not want him to hear our voices, 
or know I had sent for you," 

" I told you so," she cried, despairingly. 
u Take me away with you, Dick- He is so 
hard, so hard, I can't stay. And his mother- 
she terrifies me; she always, always has. He 
is going to treat me contemptuously before 
her, before his sisters and " 

■she moved away from him, throwing up her arms with a tragic gesture. 

The man went to the bell and rang it- 
11 Of course, John will see me," he said, 
confidently. But the servant dispatched 
with a message returned to say Mr, Ellerton 
could not be disturbed. 

Dick found relief in saying forcible words 
aloud. The remnant of the self-control by 
which his sister held herself in some sort of 
leash was fast ebbing away. 

Digitized by Google 

Her despair was more than the brother 
could bear, 

" Nell, I can't stand it. There, child, I did 
not mean to speak roughly to you, but you 
do not understand what you say." 

She flung her quivering arms round him 
and clung to him as if he were a rock of refuge. 

11 I know what I am saying; There's his 
sister ^ his sister Mabel, the only unmarried one. 




She has lovely clothes and jewels, but her 
face is just a mask, a mask shaped by misery. 
She did something — I never heard what, 
because I do not really belong to the family, 
you see. The Ellertons keep their troubles to 
themselves, but she has stood in their pillory, 
and they have broken her spirit as they will 
break mine. She has no courage left. I shall 
soon be like her. When John speaks to Mabel 
there is a note of contempt in his voice. If 
he spoke like that to me I should kill myself." 

" Nell, Nell, you make out that your hus- 
band is a monster." 

" No, no, he is not that, but so perfect, so 
straight himself, he cannot understand other 
people's failings, other people's sins. His 
mother says he has never given her one 
moment's anxiety. He has always been 
honoured, respected, courted. His father did 
well, but he has done better still. He has 
made a fortune. And he spends a great deal 
on me ; he is very generous. His family hated 
his marrying a penniless girl. It is true, 
Dick, though the family is self-made. To- 
night his relatives will rejoice over my 

" They will see you in your usual place, the 
place of honour as John's wife. I'll get you 
out of this trouble. I'll set everything right ; 
never mind how, but trust me." 

" Can you ? " she questioned, eagerly. 
" Look at the clock ; there is so little time." 

He spoke very cheerily. " I have told you 
it will be all right. I say, Nell, may I just use 
this telephone ? And then I will be off." 

His sister nodded, her eyes full of tears. 
How easily her brother set this trouble aside 
and thought of everyday things. Each tick 
of the clock said " Too late ! " She barely 
heeded what he did, scarcely heard him ask, 
first for a number, and when the bell rang 
shrilly, request someone to dispatch imme- 
diately the paper left on his desk. When he 
came to her he saw the tears. 

"Nell, I tell you everything will be all 

" But how— how ? I am frightened." 

" Just trust me. And now I must go." 

11 Go — and leave me alone ? " 

" But I shall come back before long." 

" Dick, if only I could lock myself in my 
room and plead illness. But afterwards my 
punishment would be made greater, heavier 

Her voice was full of distress, of pathetic 
appeal. A strong hand on her shoulder 
steadied her, begged her to trust. Every- 
thing would be all right and she was not 
to fear, 

by Google 

But when he left her she sat shivering in 
her place. Fear thrust a terrible suggestion 
before her. What if she took the boat 
express from Victoria with Captain Mertyn, 
and accompanied him to Persia ? Her dis- 
tracted mind toyed with the idea. She had 
forgotten everything but the possibilities of 
escape. Then a difficulty presented itself — 
money ! Eleanor possessed not a shilling of 
her own. Dick, after promising help, had 
left her alone ; but he had money — could give 
her plenty. Then her cheeks crimsoned ; it 
would be impossible to ask her honourable, 
straightforward brother for money in order to 

enable her to — to Alas ! was there no 

help ? Must she be tossed helplessly by 
winds fof destruction ? 

The door opened and closed. 

Eleanor turned with a start. Her husband 
was in the room. 

" Oh," she murmured, feebly, " is that you, 
John ? " 

" Yes," was the acid answer. " Did you 
expect anyone else, any other visitor ? Had 
you planned a second lovers' meeting ? " 

The cold tone of his voice helped her to 
composure. " You insult me. I offered to 
explain an act of folly." 

" Explain — explain ! " John Ellerton 
stood on the hearthrug, looking straight 
before him. " You can't explain away facts. 
Women, I believe, sometimes imagine they 
can. You have been carrying on a secret 
correspondence with Captain Mertyn of such 
a nature that the ordinary post would not 
serve you. The letters must go by hand. 
I took the one of this morning from your 
maid ; she did not bring it to me. Then I 
found you in the arms of this man who calls 
himself an officer and a gentleman." 

Her voice rang out indignantly. " I was 
not in his arms ! " 

" Why quibble about words ? I stood in 
the doorway of your own drawing-room and 
saw you. Any servant might have been in 
my place and seen my honour degraded by 
my wife." 

" John, how dare you ? How can you 
speak to me like this ? When you put things 
into such words you make me appear a wicked 
woman. Is that your object, your desire ? 
I was foolish, wrong, but not wicked. Won't 
you believe me ? Have you never once, not 
in all your life, been foolish yourself, John ? " 

For a moment he met the glance of his 
wife's anguished eyes, then left the hearth- 
rug, and walked at his slow, dignified pace 
to the chair in front of the writing - table, 
the chair in which Dick Carstairs had sat 




when he used the telephone there. The 
woman shivered as she watched him ; the 
tick of the clock dominated the quiet of the 
room, seeming almost to threaten her. How 
swiftly the minutes passed. Help hud not 

The thought of the flight of time drove her 
back to an unequal conflict. 

was not waiting for an answer. Telegrams in 
the busy life of the master of the house were 
not things of moment. As soon as the man 
had disappeared he said, in a commonplace 
tone, that the measage was probably from 
someone who could not be present at the 

" I shall not be there/' declared Eleanor, 


" John, give me back that letter. Can't 
you understand ? Those words were written 
in a moment of folly ; ihey are nothing but 
the echo of a passing mood." 

He made no answer ; the icy fingers of fear 
seemed to clutch her, 

" You cannot think," she cried, passion- 
ately, " of divorcing me, and dragging me 
through the courts, where white is sometimes 
made to appear black ! You can% John— 
you can't ! ,p 

** Eleanor, you are raising your voice. 
I fear the servants may hear you. There is 
someone at the door now, Pray control 

The door opened to admit a servant carry- 
ing a telegram on a salver. The messenger 

by VjC 


vehemently. " I refuse to be present unless 
you speak to me properly," 

" You will do as I wish," answered the man, 
calmly* " At the moment I desire you to sit 
down and behave sensibly/' 

With a little moaning cry, she sank into 
a chair, murmuring just as a child might have 
done, " Oh, I wish— I wish ! " But she did 
not put the passionate desire thrilling her 
into words, but watched impassive hands open 
the telegram p saw the calm air that drove her 
to madness change, the flimsy paper crumpled 
by angry fingers allowed to fall to the floor. 
Had someone else offended John Ellcrton ? 
Might his attention be distracted from her 
folly ? 

il What— what—merciful Heaven I" 
Original from 



The anguished murmur came from the lips 
of her husband. 

In a moment the wife was on her feet bend- 
ing over him. 

" What is it, John — not bad news ? " 

He muttered words to himself, incoherent 
words. He was ill. She moved towards 
the bell. 

" No, no, I am not ill. Hush ! Go to the 
door, Eleanor ; lock it. No, what am I say- 
ing ? The servants must not guess anything. 
I have had a worrying telegram. I must go 
upstairs, change these clothes, get away at 
once — to-night." 

" You are ill, John — not fit to travel. 
Could you not trust me with the worry ? 
Let me help." 

He picked up the crumpled telegram from 
the floor. " You would not understand, and 
I have no time to explain. I must find trains ; 
get away without delay. Where is Brad- 
shaw ? " His capable hands groped over the 
books on a stand. His wife watched their 
sudden helplessness with pitying eyes, then 
sprang to his help, found what he wanted, 
and forgot that a few moments ago she had 
been angry with him. 

" Don't thrust me away, John, when you 
are in trouble ! " 

His eyes peered at the pages of Bradshaw ; 
the crumpled telegram slipped from his hand. 
Eleanor, eager to help, to understand where he 
wished to go, picked it up and read the words 
upon it: — 

"Truth about South American mine known. 
Information may be used at meeting in Albert 
Hall to-morrow .—Well- Wisher . ' ' 

44 Put it down, Eleanor. How dare you 
read my telegrams ? " Then the voice of 
John Ellerton lost its note of anger. " Read ; 
know what all the world will know. Rejoice 
at my humiliation." 

The woman's forehead puckered distress- 
fully, but the look of tenderness and pity did 
not fade from her eyes. 

" I don't understand." 

" No, but I do," said the man, fiercely, 
" and so does the sender of the message. And 

it means disgrace unless My enemies, 

political enemies, have done this. Some devil 
has planned to heckle me at the mass meeting 
to-morrow with an old horror." 

The face, so strong but a few minutes before, 
was hidden by a pair of shaking hands. The 
woman, pressing tenderly close to him, heard 
a piteous murmur. 

44 A forgotten sin ! " 

Her arms went round him. " Trust me, 
dear. Let me help." 

by Google 

But he slipped from her embrace, pushed 
back his chair, and fell to pacing the floor. 
" Did you think I was a saint ? Eleanor, don't 
question me ; I hardly know what I am doing. 
It is a business matter, a " Again con- 
fidence deserted him. He pressed his hand 
to his eyes as if he would shut out some painful 
sight. " If they have got hold of Mrs. Arlton, 
I can't face her. I must get away. Help 
me ! " 

Swiftly she hastened to him, but his manner 

" Don't notice anything I say ; I am ill. 
Ring the bell. Tell the servants not to admit 
any of our expected guests. My own people ! 
They are all spies — spies ! I have kept them 
under, and now they will rejoice — call the 
food on my table ill-gotten, purchased at the 
price of blood. Yes, they will join in the 
world's cruel chorus. Who sent the telegram 
— who — who — who ? " 

As if in answer to the frenzied question the 
door opened and Dick Carstairs came into the 
room. His brother-in-law turned with an 
angry protest, then as swiftly apologized. 
But when Dick uttered a calm " Good even- 
ing," the sound of that commonplace word, 
like a mockery, lashed him into fury. 

" What do you mean by prying here ? " 
Again he almost cringed — business worries 
had upset him. " There is trouble about one 
of the silver mines, and I start to-night." 

Dick stood quite still, listening. His eyes 
wandered from the changed face of his sister 
to that of her husband. She had something 
to say. 

44 He is ill, not fit to travel. I cannot let 
him go alone." 

44 No, no, Eleanor, you can't come ; I go 

Again the wife pleaded. 44 You are ill, 
dear, and it is my right to take care of you. 
I am your wife." 

The simple words were spoken with such 
dignity and sweetness that the husband, 
obsessed as he was by fear, realized theii 

44 1 am not worth this. There, there,. 
Nell," he added, gently, as she would have 
clung to him, 44 you must not hinder me. You 
will ruin me if you do not let me go. You 
make me say things before your brother, 
things he cannot possibly understand. He 
will take care of you till — till — I come back." 

44 You received a telegram, John ? " 

Carstairs asked his question in a matter-of- 
fact tone. 

His brother-in-law nodded. 

44 It came when you were planning ways of 






punishing your wife, ray sister. You would 
not see me, if you remember ? " 
■ John Ellerton passed a distracted hand 
over his face. " Things about Eleanor ? 
I — I- — can't talk now + Man, don't you see 
I am in torture? Things about Eleanor? 
Why j she wants to go away with me, a dis- 
graced man. And I thought she only cared 
for the money. I don't know what I am 
saying ! " 

The wife's arms were round his neck, her 
lips, close to his ear, whispering something. 

" You have got to listen to me/' said 
Carstairs, steadily, u I sent that telegram." 

The soft j persistent tick of the clock again 
dominated the room, sounding like the thud 
of heavy hammers. E Her ton's eyes, with 
fury in them, were riveted on the calm face 
of his brother-in-law. He opened his lips 
to speak, but no words came, For years the 
successful man had prided himself on impene- 

by t_iC 


trability of expression, but now, in turn, fury, 
incredulity, and amazement, following each 
other, were plainly seen, 

M I sent the telegram/' repeated Dick 
Carstairs, "to bring you to your senses. 
I could not ulIow r Eleanor to be hurt, I 
would rather have spoken with you face to 
face, but you would not see me, and forced 
mv hand." 

'" Dirk ! Dick i " The voice of Eleanor 
was filled with deep reproach. " Dick, how 
could you ? It was cruel." 

Gently the husband released himself from 
her embrace, 

" You knew — knew all along ? " The 
w : ords rushed from E Her ton's lips. 

" Yes, 1 know all the cruel business. The 
trumped-up charges against poor Arlton to 
force him to hand over the mine option, 
When these did not work, the heavy bribing, 
turning honest men into swindlers who swore 
Original from 



the mine was worthless. That hunting of 
Arlton, the cruel, cruel turning of the screw f 
the breaking j bit by bit, of a woman's 
heart ! " 

The speaker paused : the words were 
horrible. With a cry of agony John Ellerton 
sank into a chair. 

" Don't — for Heaven's sake, don't ! I have 
tried to make reparation. I have advertised, 
I have used detectives to trace her, but she 
could not be found." 

" Mrs, Arlton is dead. I knew her in South 
America- The day she told me her story the 
English mail came in, and I heard my sister 
had married you." 

tl And you have allowed me to strut and 
brag ? You did nothing — held your tongue ! 
You must have wanted to shoot me.' 1 

Eleanor threw herself on her knees by her 
h u sband's 
side and 
flung out 
slender arms 

"He is my 
Dick, Hurt 
him and you 
hurt me. You 
are cruel — 
cruel ! John 
never did 

At his 
wife's pas- 
sionate cry 
turned and 
looked at her 
before he 
faced his 
brother - in- 
law again, 

11 From a 
palace of 
pride and 
tion I have 
been thrust 
into the 

"No, no!" 
cried Eleanor j 
"for I am 
w r ith you and 
I love you. 
Dick," she 

by Google 

added, reproachfully, u how could vou hurt 
him so ? " 

Her husband checked her. " Don't blame 
your brother, for he has shown more mercy 
than I deserve. Wife, you will have to hear 
the old hateful, wicked tale, and know me for 
what I am. Then, if you are not ashamed to 
call me husband, I shall find it easy to thank 
Dick. I tried to build a reputation on a 
rotten foundation ; the old story could make 
my name a mockery, a byword. Dick will 
never want to shake hands with me again." 

" At the moment," answered the other man, 
simply t 4£ there is no one with whom I would 
rather shake hands." 

Under the glance of Eleanor's tragic eyes 
their hands clasped. 

She threw her arms round her husband's 
neck. u You are all mine now, dear, for you 

need me, 
Oh j we will 
he happy, 
kind to other 
people, to — 
to — to"— her 
voice faltered 
— " all who 
And we will 
build a home 
— a real 
home — to- 
gether. I can 
forgive Dick 
now — this 

But when 
she turned 
her head it 
was to find 
him gone. 
She was alone 
with the man 
she loved* 

the clock 
chimed eight 
Duty called 
them. The 
empty draw- 
ing - room, 
where they 
must receive 
their guests, 
them. They 
went, hand 
in hand* 

IAMJ t " 

Original from 

" GLIM A. 


Tke wonders of tke secret sport of Iceland and ho w to learn this kitkerto 
jealously-guarded art of self-defence , wkick beats Ju-jitsu. 


Tke ^World's " Glima " Champion. 

[In the following article, specially written for THE STRAND MAGAZINE, Mr. Johannes Josefsson, the 
world's champion " Glima ** exponent, explains, for the first time, the secrets of this Icelandic form 
of self-defence. Mr. Josefsson, who represented Iceland in the Olympic Games of 1908, first won 
the World's Championship in 1907, throwing twenty-four competitors in six hours without incurring a 
single fall. In the following year he again won the championship from fourteen competitors, since when 
his title of champion has not been opposed. Until recently Icelanders took the minutest precautions to 
prevent the secrets of this form of self-defence from leaving the island. That "Glima ' is a more 
efficacious form of self-defence than Ju-jitsu Mr. Josefsson recently demonstrated by throwing Diabutsu, the 
champion Ju-jitsu wrestler, twice in the short space of fifty-seven seconds. He states, too, that if readers 
of THE STRAND MAGAZINE will thoroughly master the tricks explained in this article they will be 

able to ward off all ordinary forms of attack.] 

URING recent years public 
interest in any and every 
really valuable form of self- 
defence has increased very 
largely, and on that account it 
will be a matter of the greatest 
surprise to me if the true 
merits of " Glima/' the particular form of 
self-defence that has actually been practised 
in Iceland for nearly one thousand years, 
do not, when once known, become generally 
recognized, for, as has been proved on count- 
less occasions, it is at once the simplest and yet 
withal the most efficacious of all exercises. 

But up to the present time the ancient 
pastime of my countrymen has been jealously 
guarded from all foreigners. Indeed, the 
only occasion when strangers were allowed 
to witness it during the whole of the last 
century was when it was displayed before 
King Christian IX. of Denmark at Thing- 
vellir, when he visited Iceland in 1874, and 
even then only two men took part — the 
present Rev. Sigurour Gunnarsson, of Styk- 
kisholm, and the Rev. Larus Halldorsson, 
of Reykjavik. 

But times change, and thus to-day, even 
in far-away Iceland, where news from the 
outside world is slow to creep in, we have at 
last recognized that no good purpose is 
being served by still keeping secret our ancient 
form of self-defence, the knowledge of which, 
valuable though it is in everyday life, must 
necessarily play " second fiddle " in scientific 
warfare. On that account, therefore, to-day 
I feel no qualms in divulging to readers of 

^e<j by Google 

Vol. xlL-36. 

The Strand Magazine the secrets of this 
form of self-defence, which has been practised 
in Iceland since 1100, when my country was 
a Republic. It was not then limited to the 
platform nor to any special occasion, for 
throughout the land, from the country farm 
to the Althing (Parliament), it was a daily 
exercise in which most men took part. 

The essential idea of this Icelandic form of 
self-defence is to enable the weaker to hold 
their own with the stronger, and I am not 
exaggerating when I say that, if she will take 
the trouble to learn some of the tricks and 
" hitches " of Glima, even a woman possessed 
of only ordinary strength will be able to 
defend herself against, and overcome, an 
opponent possessed of far greater physical 

In recent years, too, the perfection to 
which Glima has been brought has proved 
it to be, in a very high degree, an exercise 
which gives health and endurance to the 
body, and which also acts as a real source of 
refreshment to the mind, while, at the same 
time, sharpening the courage, smartness, 
and intellect of those who take part in it. I 
would mention that most of the grips are 
formed by the aid of the feet and legs, so 
that, even should an exponent of Glima have 
his or her hands tied, a capable resistance 
can still be made, no matter from which side 
the attacker may decide to start operations. 

It would be easy to write at considerable 
length about the history of this wonderful 
form of self-defence, for the story of how, 
little by little, new holds and hitches have 

_- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l 1 1 '.' 1 1 1 




Fig. I.— A boxer attacks with "a straight left." Note how Mr. Johannes 
Joaef&son appear* to drop to ihe ground on his left hand. 

been thought out to enable its exponents 
to he prepared for all emergencies is full of 
interest. Still, in the 
space allowed to me, I 
could not do sufficient 
justice to the subject, 
so that I will content 
myself by explaining 
various tricks which are 
likely to prove most 
useful in cases of emer- 
gency in everyday life. 
Even in these civilized 
days the hooligan and 
larrikin is far from 
"a back number,*' as 
cases so frequently 
reported in the Press 
clearly prove, but I 
would dare swear that 
these amiably-inclined 
gentlemen" would 
speedily have cause to 
regret their temerity 
if they were to attempt 
an assault on an oppo- 
nent conversant with 

Perhaps the most 
common form of attack 

to do is to throw- 

is with the fists, and, 
generally speaking, a 
man possessed of some 
knowledge of how to 
box must inevitably 
have a great pull 
over an opponent who 
has never learnt how 
to use his fists. I 
will, therefore. explain 
how an attack with 
the fists can he easily 
warded of[ ? and also 
how the attacker can 
be reduced to a state 
of lamb-like passivity, 
even though his 
strength may be far 
greater than that of 
the opponent he has 

For the sake of 
example, let us say 
that he leads off with 
the left, as shown in 
the accompanying 
illustration (Fig. i), 
As he strikes out, 
all that it is necessary 
yourself down on 

your left hand, at the same time throwing 
the right foot across 
his right leg just above 
the knee, and quickly 
gripping your left foot 
behind and over the 
opponent's right, when, 
by pressing your right 

Fig. 2.— The boxer** hopeless position will be understood *t once by reading 

the letterpress. 





Fig. 3* — An attack From behind when the hand* are tied, 

foot back and your left foot forward, you have 
him in such a position that you can throw him 
to the ground (Fig. 2), and, by exerting pres- 
sure, keep him there until he has decided that 
further attack would be, to put it mildly > a 
most indiscreet undertaking. On paper, no 
doubt, this explanation may not seem quite 
clear, but if you will practise 
the hold for a minute or two 
with any opponent* you will 
be able to prove its value 
at once. But I do not think 
I need give any clearer ex- 
ample of the merits of this 
trick than by saying that, 
although I am not a boxer 
myself, 1 am, nevertheless, 
prepared to challenge even 
the champion of the world, 
and to throw him to the 
ground before he ran make 
any real use of his fistic 

And now let me explain 
how, even with your hands 
tied ; if you possess any 
knowledge of Glima, you 

with the greatest ease in the world. Firstly, 
let us suppose that the attack comes from 
behind* Realizing that your hands are tied, an 
attacker may try to completely overcome you 
by trying to throw you backwards (Fig t 3), To 
do this the laws of balance compel him to 
grip the upper part of your body, and he will 
probably seize you by the head and chest, 
as by this means he gets a more powerful 
leverage than by any other. As, therefore, 
he grasps you under the chin and tries to 
force your head back, lean quickly forward, 
and, unless he leaves go, the attacker will he 
thrown completely over your shoulders, 
landing in the position as shown in Fig, 4, 
where he is clearly at your mercy, for if he 
does not drop his hold he must inevitably 
hreak his own neck, a form of self-execution 
which even the most evil -minded hooligan 
is not likely to greatly enjoy. 

When unarmed, to be attacked by an 
opponent with a knife is a happening 
which even Mark Tap ley would assuredly 
not have found particularly cheering. 
However, such an attack can be rendered 
completely ineffective, as follows. Let us 
suppose that the attacker strikes out with 
his knife in the right hand. As he does 
so the attacked must move slightly to 
the left, so that the arm comes over 
his shoulder (Fig, 5)* He must then 
turn quickly to the right, at the same time 
twisting his left leg round the attacker's 
right, as shown in Fig, 6, and also pulling 
the attacker's right arm across his chest, 
when the former will find himself in a position 
from which he cannot possibly extricate 
himself, for, by putting on even slight pres- 
sure, his opponent can 


break either his arm or 
leg with the greatest of 
ease. Maybe, in explain- 
ing what can be done, I 
must seem rather a blood- 
thirsty person. As a matter 

can overcome any attacker Kig 4 + The atiacker** hop*l«» potjrifjai^ ^cep-j^^e 


in the above illustration, 



of fact, however ^ 
I should like to 
say that I am the 
mfrst peacefully- 
inclkifrd indi- 
vidual in the 
world. Still, to 
show how Glima 
can be made of 
real value in 
everyday life in 
the case of attack 

vidual in a crowd, or elsewhere, 
who shows some inclination to 
assert his position in an unplea- 
sant manner by jostling or other- 
wise using undue pressure* Yes, 
the " leg trick " and " inverted 
hitch " will be found in- 
valuable replies to a 
;tlers idiosyncrasies. 
An opponent possessed 
of " firearms M and un- 
aniiable inclinations is 
never a particularly plea- 
sant person to meet. 
Still, at close quarters it 
is possible to de- 
prive him of much 
of his advantage 
if you will act 
quickly , and act as 
follows. Let us 
suppose that he is 
trying to extort 
money or the fulfil- 
ment of some wish 
by levelling a 
revolver at your 

Fig. 5. — How to ward off an attack with a knife. 

it is necessary to point out the unenviable 
position any opponent must find himself 
in if he stru^lcs against a Glima " hold." 

An excellent means of throwing an 
opponent off his balance is known in the 
Icelandic form of self-defence as the il in- 
verted hitch." This is performed with 
either right foot on right (Fig, 7) or left 
on left, by hooking the foot slantwise 
round an opponent's heel, the attackers 
knee bent slightly forward and his oppo- 
nent's slightly inward , so that the foot is 
locked in the position shown in the illus- 
tration. The attacker then draws his foot 
smartly to one side, and with his hands 
he keeps his opponent from jumping for 
it is important to keep him down, other- 
wise the trick can be frustrated. 

Another valuable trick for unbalancing 
an opponent is the "leg trick." This is 
per formed by placing the right foot on 
the opponent's left (Fig. 8) t or vice versa, 
so that th*? inner part of the foot touches 
the outer part of his foot, The feet are 
then drawn from him. and the hands 
used to complete the fall. I would men- 
tion, by the way, that the last two tricks 
I have described will be found particu- 
larly effective should any reader of Thk 
Strand Maoa^ink encounter some indi- 

by Google 

Fig* 6. — Second position when attacked with a knife. Note 
the at I acker's fruitless attempt to evade this " Glima " self- 
defence* grip. 

Original from 


*8 5 

head , and threatening " your 
money or your life " unless you 
consent to do as he dictates. As 
he raises the revolver step quickly 
ba< -k 7 at the same time leaning 
back wards } and with your right 
foot kick up his wrist in such a 
way that his aim is completely 
" put out of joint," in that, 
whether he fires or not, the shot 
must inevitably miss its destination 
(Fjg. 9), I do not pretend, of 
course, that this trick is in any 
way infallible, for an opponent 
with firearms and his finder on the 
trigger must necessarily be pos- 
sessed of an enormous advantage 
over an unarmed adversary. At 
the same time, with sufficient 
practice, the simple device I have 
explained can be performed so 
rapidly that, while the arm is 
being raised to fire, the foot acts 
more quickly and reaches the wrist 
before the revolver is in the 


Fig, 7. — The " inverted hitck" 

ed by GoOgk 

Fig. 8.-TKe tf leg Lrick.' J 

requisite position to make an effective 

Another extremely useful way of dis- 
arming an opponent — if only you are 
quick enough — is shown in Fig. 10- As 
the attacker levels his revolver at his 
adversary's head, the latter quickly 
bends down and grasps his opponent's 
right wrist with his left hand and the 
hater's left with his right hand, the 
while forcing his left wrist back. With 
his right leg he then encircles the 
attacker's left in such a way that he 
can easily throw him backwards, when, 
by gripping the wrist of the hand in 
which he holds the revolve r, and by 
pressing the thumb on the back of the 
armed hand and gripping his palm with 
the other fingers, an opponent 
is inevitably forced to drop 
the revolver. Try this grip on 
anyone you like, no matter 
how strong lie may be, and 
you will find it extraordinarily 

A trick I would earnestly 
commend to ladies is known 
in Glima as the " zigz&g 
Original from 



when j by press- 
ing the leg 
upwards, as 
shown in the 
illustration, an 
opponent, no 
matter how 
strong he may 
be, can be 
thrown back- 
wards to the 

I quite 
realize that 
'* the hyper- 
reader/' who, 
maybe, has 
never even 
heard of Glima, 
will probably 
scoff at the 
tricks I have 
explained, by 
reason of the 
fact that in 
cold, hard 
print they 
probably sound 
far from easy 
of accomplishment I would hasten to say, 
therefore, that every Glim a trick explained 

Fig, 9,— When the foot Is quicker than the wrist. Mr. Josefsson declares that by practice 
il is possible to disarm an armed opponent as shown above, 

trick" (Fig. u) + By this manoeuvre even 
a child can throw p a strong man to the ground 
w : ith lightning rapidity, and in my native 
country I have often seen a little Icelander 
bring about the overthrow of a man who, 
in a hand-to-hand struggle, would probably 
have defeated her " with two fingers." The 
requisite position in which to bring this trick 
into play can be understood at once by 
glancing at the illustration. The " zigzag 
trick " is ** laid " by placing the right fool 
round an opponent's right leg, when, by 
quickly gripping him by the wrists an<l 
swinging him slightly to the left, he will fines 
himself on his back in a fraction of a second. 
The value of this trick is derived entirely 
from the laws of balance, and, if practised 
a few times, ladies will find it particularly use- 
ful as a means of subjugating someone 
much stronger than themselves. 

The ''gentle hooligan'* who relies 
ujjon a knife or dagger to bring about 
an opponent's downfall can be subdued 
as follows. As he strikes downwards 
with his knife (J H ig. 12) the person 
attacked bends slightly backwards, at 
the same time gripping the right wrist 
with the lefl hand and his right ankle 
with the right hand from the outside, Fig, 10. 

by Google 

Another method of disarming an arcucd opponent. 

Original from 



Fig 1 1 , — The " zigzag '* trick* Mr. Josefsson recommends ladies 
to practice this, as \\ is particularly effective and quite easy lo 


in this article will be found 
perfectly simple after a little 
practice. After all, it is on 
practice, and practice alone, 
that each and every form of 
self - defence depends for its 
real value in times of stress; 
and when I point out that a 
really clever exponent of Glima 
is more than a master for an 
adept at any other form of self- 
defence, I am merely giving 
this Icelandic pastime the credit 
to which it is entitled. 

In conclusion j I would lay 
special stress on the necessity 
of each trick being performed 
sharply and decisively. 

Had space permitted I could 
have explained many 
other tricks which might 
possibly have come in use- 
ful at some time or another 
to readers of The Strand, 
If, however, they will he 
content to thoroughly 
master the various " self 

defence" exercises set forth in this 
article, they will find that they 
are armed with a stock - in - trade 
of defensive tactics which will 
assuredly serve them in good stead 
should necessity to bring them into 
play arise. 

No special gymnasium is re- 
quired in which to practise 
Glima tricks ; any ordinary-sized 
apartment will serve the pur- 
pose : in fact, a plot of level 
ground anywhere furnishes an 
excellent school, providing there 
are no stones, I would mention, 
too, that no carpet is required, 
and the tricks may be practised in 
ordinary clothes, though, until they 
become fairly expert, I would 
counsel beginners not to wear too- 
heavily-soled boots or shoes; soft 
shoes, or the stockinged feet , arc best 
when commencing to practise Glima 
tricks, as, speed being so essential to 
the ir su ccessf u 1 accom pi is h m en t f 
unnecessarily hard knocks are some- 
times given when heavy foot-gear 
is worn. 

" Fi g T2, 

>y Google 

Fig. 12.- How a lady can ward off an attack from an opponent even 
armei wi:li a k^fe. 


A Shot in the Dark, 


Illustrated by Jolm Cameron. 

to this country on a con- 
scientious tour of inspection 
of the chief British golf 
courses. Working gradually 
northward, he arrived in 
time at the classic green of 
St. Arnolds, where he soon found himself the 
possessor of quite a large circle of new friends. 
One was Johnny Trickett, most charming 
of companions, a valuable partner and a 
dangerous opponent. Johnny was generally 
believed by his friends to have discovered the 
philosopher's stone, for he not only lived, 
like Becky Sharp, on nothing a year, but 
played golf wheresoever he pleased, with the 
newest of golf balls and the most costly of 
clubs, and all on an income which he returned 
with perfect truthfulness to the Income Tax 
Commissioners as nil. 

Another was Major Fakenham, a com- 
paratively aged and grizzled warrior, who 
pocketed his two half-crowns a day with an 
almost mechanical regularity. Yet, in spite 
of his success, the Majpr was not proud ; on 
the contrary, he was clothed with humility. 

" My dear boy," he would say to some 
slashing young player, " you don't seem to 
realize that I'm an old man. What on earth 
is the good of my playing you with four 
strokes ? I should have no chance even with 
a third, but still, just to make a game- 

If the result showed, as it nearly always 
did, that four strokes would have been more 
than sufficient, who shall blame the Major ? 
Is not modesty one of the most beautiful 
qualities that can be found in a military 
commander ? 

These two, and several more eager and 
resourceful spirits — their enemies spoke of 
them as the gang or the syndicate — deter- 
mined that one American visitor at least 
should have no cause to complain of the cold- 
ness and insularity of Britons. If I have not 
mentioned before that Mr. Dodge was a multi- 
millionaire, who had inherited from his father 
a controlling interest in several thousand 
miles of railroad, it is simply because the fact 
had so clearly no connection with the dis- 
interested kindness of Johnny and his friends. 

Digitized by GoOQle 

Nothing could have exceeded their friendli- 
ness. They would give up the most cherished 
and bloodthirsty of single combats in order 
to take Cyrus into a three-ball match. Every 
day they had some new permutation or com- 
bination of partners to propose, and if there 
were a few small bets — well, it is only the 
most bigoted who object to gambling at golf. 

Mr. Dodge did not gain much from these 
matches except experience, the value of which 
must not be lightly estimated. He was a 
player whom it was rather difficult, to place 
exactly. He did not look much like a golfer, 
being neither "bull-neckit" nor " bow-legged " 
— on the contrary, he was a tall and rather 
weedy young man, with a mild and benevolent 
countenance, which was partially concealed 
by a large pair of blue spectacles, betokening 
presumably some weakness of the eyes. This 
last, perhaps, accounted for his failures. In 
spite of a sound and infinitely elaborate style 
— they take their golf very seriously in 
America — he would make the most eccentric 
of strokes, at one moment sending the ball 
flying far beyond the hole, and at another 
being ludicrously short. 

Well, he had come to St. Arnolds to improve 
his education, and education, as we know, is 
an expensive luxury. Only once did he ever 
get any of his own back from this syndicate 
of plunderers. This was on his very last day, 
when it was decided to play as long as there 
was one available ray of daylight. Then, 
curiously enough, when it became so dark 
that even the Major, who knew the Christian 
name, as it was said, of every blade of grass 
on the course, was all abroad, the stranger 
began to perform prodigies of skill or luck, and 
displayed infinitely better form than he had 
ever done in the light of day. The syndicate 
was surprised, not to say disappointed, but 
they had done so well on the whole that they 
thought no more of this little set-back. It 
would have been well for them if they had 
pondered on it more deeply. 

That evening Mr. Dodge entertained his 
kind friends to a farewell dinner. Everything 
was of the best, and when Johnny Trickett 
proposed their host's health, he overflowed 
with a very genuine emotion, while the uproar 




4a* ms&m. 


became positively deafening when Cyrus rose 
to reply. After thanking them most warmly, 
he went on in his usual quiet drawl : — 

{i Now, I guess some of you gentlemen 
think you've done pretty well out of me." 

The speaker paused as if to let his words 
sink in ? and there was an awkward silence, 
in which each man looked rather guiltily at 
his neighbour. Then he continued : — 

" Well, now IVe got a proposal to make, a 
kind of return match." 

Prolonged stamping and beating of spoons 
upon the table. 

11 There's a course over on our side ; I 
know it pretty well, and I reckon 1 could give 
pretty well anybody a game there.'* 

" The vanity of youth dies hard/' muttered 
the Major, under his breath. 

u So see here/ 1 proceeded the speaker. 
" You bring your open champion or anybody 
you like — you, Mr. Triekett, or you, Major — 
I pay all expenses — I put you up as long as 
you like to stay, and I play your man, 
whoever he is, for what shall we say— 

Vol. idi.— 37- 

by L^OOgle 

twenty thousand dollars ? Say, is it a 

For an instant everyone was dumbfounded 
at this extraordinary proposal, made with 
every appearance of seriousness and with no 
sign either of intoxication or incipient mad- 
ness, Johnny Trickctt had just opened his 
mouth to accept, when the Major pulled him 
by the sieeve. 

" We ought to know what sort of course it 
is," said that wary gentleman. 

" Waal," drawled Cyrus, " the course isn't 
quite ready yet, but I guess it will be next 
falL It's only nine holes, but no man alive 
is going to find those nine easy, Well over 
three thousand yards long, and bogey — well, 
I reckon bogey would be about forty for the 
nine, and it will take a pretty smart man to 
do that." 

The Major looked round, gathering the 
eyes of the syndicate like a hostess at the end 
of a dinner party* Then — 

" We'll take you on," he said, 

" Right," said Cyrus briskly ; " and now let 

Original from 



us have it down in black and white right here. 
The back of the menu will do/ ? And he began 
to write forthwith. 

" Thirty-six holes on the 15th of September 
next. Any man you like to bring, Stakes 
to be deposited with the referee before we 
start. Play or pay ; and I guarantee just 
this, that the course is a full-length course to 
the satisfaction of the referee." 

iS Who is your referee ? " someone asked. 

6t You ran have the President of the United 
States, if you ran ^et him," said Cyrus Q., 
" or John D. Rockefeller, It's all o^e to me/' 

A clause was inserted to the effect that the 
referee was to be mutually agreed upon at a 
later date, The day and hour of beginning 
play were fixed and the document signed, 
gravely and formally by the challenger, 
almost hilariously by the challenged parties. 

u I deliver this as my act and deed/ 1 cried 
the Major, gaily, and appended an additional 
flourish to his signature. 

In the small hours the meeting broke up, 
proclaiming more emphatically than ever that 
Mr. Cyrus Q + Dodge was a jolly good fellow. 
Next morning 
while the rest of 
1 he party w ere still 
abed, the tuff, tuff, 
tuff of Mr, Dodge's 
gigantic car might 
have been heard 
in the narrow, 
cork screwy streets 
of St, Arnolds, and 
the place knew him 
no more. 

Well, Mr. Dodge 
was gone, and the 
syndicate were left 
to raise the twenty 
thousand dollars. 
How they did it 
is no business of 
mine, nor would I 
for the world pry 
too closely into 
their doings. Such 
gentlemen would 
never lack the 
means of raising 
the wind , and they 
did it somehow, 

Their next task was to persuade James 
MacCaskie, the ideal man for the purpose, 
to be their nominee, Every golfer knows 
that man of granite j the winner of many 
championships; strong as a horse and, 

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withal, placid as a cow, James had to be 
wheedled not inadroitly ; indeed, he was at 
first by no means favourably inclined towards 
the proposal. 

u What like player is this Dodge ? " he 

"Can't play for nuts, 11 replied Johnny, 
airily. " I would back myself to beat him 
any day/' 

" I'm thinking he must have been pulling 
your leg/' said James, thoughtfully, " or 
maybe there's something gey and queer about 
the course. Else why don't you play him 
yourself Mr. Trickett ? " Then, turning to a 
more congenial topic, " And what am I going 
to get out of this?" he asked. "Ye ken 
there's ma presteege to be considered. I 
shallna look a very intelligent kind of a man 
if I make sic a rnautch as this and lose it/* 

Then began a process of haggling, in which 

the Scotsman proved worthy of his ancestry, 

"I wouldna cross them miles of heaving 

water under five hundred/' he said, with a 

shudder, " let alone the rnautch." 

However, terms were at last agreed, and, 

as if to confirm 
the soundness of 
the choice made, 
the next season 
brought with it one 
continuous run of 
victories for 
MacCaskie. He 
won the Open 
Championship yet 
again, he crushed 
one local profes- 
sional after another 
in a triumphal pro- 
gress through the 
country, and when, 
in the early days 
of September, 
Johnny and the 
Major e m - 
barked on a 
big Cunarder, 
they had the 
satisfaction of 
knowing that 
they had un- 
doubtedly the 
finest golfer in 
the world to 
carry their money. The two adventurers, 
indeed, were jubilant, but James himself was 
rather {K?nsive t not to say morose, 

" I'm thinking/' he would say, " that I'm 
no better than an an Id sweetie wife to play 

Original from 

'what ukk player is this dotwe?' hk inquired. 



sic a mautch. It may be all richt, but I dinna 
like it. There's something mair behind." 

He would stand and stare at the great 
Atlantic rollers by the hour together ; and 
at such times his companions divined 
that he was " jist no very carin' for the 
mautch." Not even the ingenuous appear- 
ance of Mr. Dodge, who came to greet them 
on landing, could cheer him. " It's no always 
them that looks best that plays best," was 
all that could be extracted from him. " Who 
would think," he added, " that that wee 

mannie S could play gowf ; but, by gum, 

he can." 

This is a narrative of stirring adventure, 
and not a guide-book. Therefore, I will pass 
over the reception of the party in America. 
James MacCaskie proved to be one of the 
few distinguished strangers who ever baffled 
a New York reporter, and their host's hos- 
pitality was boundless as ever. On one sub- 
ject alone was he obdurately silent ; no 
word could be extracted from him as to the 
venue of the match. James shook off his 
sea legs, and in some rounds on the New York 
courses showed himself to be in his very finest 

Finally, one morning the party set out 
in one of Mr. Dodge's numerous fleet of cars 
for their unknown battlefield, taking with 
them a gentleman of eminence in the senate 
of American golf, who had agreed to act as 
referee. After a hot chase they shook off 
the cars of pursuing Pressmen and, driving 
far and fast, arrived at their destination, 
Mr. Dodge's magnificent country palace, 
standing in the midst of very wild and 
solitary country. 

The shades of evening had already fallen 
when they arrived. The house itself was a 
dazzling and majestic pile of white stone, 
but the surrounding demesne presented a 
disquieting appearance. The visitors peered 
vainly for any traces of a golf course. The 
ground appeared to be broken, rugged, and 
rocky, while vast heaps of earth loomed here 
and there through the gathering darkness, for 
all the world like slag-heaps at a pit-head. 

" Some fine big carries," suggested Johnny, 
with a rather forced cheerfulness, but Cyrus 
only grunted in response. 

" Guid save us, there'll be some terrible 
blind holes here," said the champion, 

" You shall know all about the course to- 
morrow, I promise you," answered the owner, 
and there was a veiled menace in his tone 
that sounded uncomfortably in the ears of 
the visitors. A moment afterwards the car 

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drew up at the door. Mr. Dodge's little fit 
of moroseness vanished, and it was with his 
customarily gay and friendly demeanour 
that he made his guests welcome to the house. 

The adventurers did not sleep very well 
that night. Now that the great moment 
had arrived the whole affair, always regarded 
hitherto in the light of a lucrative joke, had 
taken on an unpleasantly mysterious aspect. 
They were in the depths of the country ; 
precisely where, they knew not. There was 
no sign of a course ; no sound but the cryiAg 
of the wind among the trees ; nothing to be 
seen but the blackness of the night, and no 
word had been extracted from, their host. 
Moreover, there had been an air of quiet 
confidence about him during the evening 
which had not been without its effect. 

" Dash it," said the Major to himself, 
giving his pillow an irritable thump, "I'd 
almost play the fellow myself, and yet " 

And yet he lay tossing uneasily till the 

The day of the match broke bleak and 
horrible to a degree. The wind howled and 
the driving rain lashed the windows. 

James was palpably off colour. In vain 
did his supporters point out to him the ideal 
nature of the conditions. 

" Why, man alive," said Johnny, " every- 
body knows you're at your best on a bad 
day, and just look at this — simply made 
for you." 

" Dodge won't be able to see a yard," 
added the astute Major. " Those great 
spectacles of his will be blurred with rain 
after the first minute." 

" I've an idee we're jist three fools," 
answered James, dolefully, and made but a 
shadow of his usual breakfast. The chal- 
lenger, indeed, was the only one of the party 
to retain his composure. It wanted but ten 
or twelve minutes to the appointed time, and 
still he sat silent, his teeth meeting in his 

" I'll jist go and get ma umbrelly," said 
James, with a glance at the pitiless rain. 

" You may take a sunshade if you like," 
answered Cyrus, getting to his ieet, " but I 
guess you won't find much use for it on my 
cource. Now, gentlemen, I'll show you the 

" Caddies at the tee, I suppose ? " said 

" Caddies don't kind of grow in these 
parts," said Cyrus. " I don't want one 
myself. You can carry for MacCaskie, and 
the Major can be a fore-caddy — I guess 
you'll need one." 

Original from 



The little procession filed out into the hall. 
Their guide opened a door in the panelling, 
switched on the electric light inside, and then 
motioned the others forward with a courteous 
gesture. In front of them they could see a 
flight of steps, sloping down at rather a steep 
incline and stretching away into the distance, 
till they were lost in the darkness. 



Cyrus looked round at his amazed followers 
with a half smile. M Maybe well find another 
light farther on/' he said. 

The referee stared at him in wonder. 
James dropped his clubs on the stone steps 
with a hollow clang. The Major was the 
first to recover the power of speech, 

11 Good Lord ! " he exclaimed, *' I believe 
the course is underground/ 1 

" 111 guarantee the ventilation system, 
Major," said Cyrus. 

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" I'll no play gowf in a vault," cried James, 
in a tone in which terror and fury struggled 
for mastery. 

4t You had better see the course before 
you decide/* Cyrus answered, and led the 
way down the stairs. 

Down, down, down they went into the 
very bowels of the earth, the guide turn- 
ing on electric switches 
at intervals to light them 
on their way. At last they 
came to another door. It 
was thrown open, and they 
entered what was appa- 
rently a vast subterranean 
hall or cavern of unknown 
extent. It was not pitch- 
dark, for here and there, at 
wide intervals, were lamps 
fixed, as it seemed, in the 
rocky sides of the cave, 
casting a faint and ghostly 
tight. Straining their eyes, 
the visitors could discern 
irregular shapes rising 
through the gloom, but the 
whole was blurred and dim. 
They appeared to be tread- 
ing on some artificial sub- 
stance resembling turf, very 
springy and pleasant to 
walk upon. 

"Well/* said Cyrus, " this 
is the course, and I guess 
you 1 11 find it an interesting 
one. There was a kind of 
natural cavern close to the 
house, and, with a little 
extra digging, I think it's 
turned out real good. 
Mat:Caskic« I hope you'll 
give me some hints as to 
the bunkers/' 

James was bereft of 
speech, but Johnny 
answered for him. 

"Mr. Referee," he said, 
i£ I protest against these 
proceedings. This course, if h is a course, 
does not conform with the agreement.*' 
" In what respect f sir ? ,r asked the referee, 
*' Why," spluttered Johnny, (t it — it's pitch- 
dark. Who ever heard of golf in the dark ? " 
" That, sir," replied the referee, " is purely 
a general objection. If you will point to a 
particular clause in the agreement I will con- 
sider the point. Otherwise I must direct 
that the match proceed." 

" I can't point to anything in this infernal 

Original from 



darkness/' said Johnny, irritably, " because 
I can't see it." 

Solemnly the referee produced the agree- 
ment, Cyrus brought out from his pocket 
a small electric lamp, and the terms and con- 
ditions were read through once again. There 
was nothing there that could avail the syndi- 
cate, unless, indeed, the course proved not 
to be of full length. The trap had been laid 
for them and they had walked into it. 

" The match must proceed," declared the 
referee. " Now, Mr. MacCaskie." 

" I'll no play," objected James, stoutly. 
"I'm here to play at gowf, no at Hunt the 
Slipper or Blind Man's Buff." J 

The referee took out his watih. 

" You have two minutes left," he said. 
" At the end of that time, if you will not play, 
I must award the stakes to Mr. Dodge." 

But James was in a state of belligerent 
terror, and Johnny and the Major pleaded 
and cursed in vain. 

" I'll no do it," he muttered, sullenly. 

" There is only one minute left," pro- 
claimed the referee, in a level, impassive 

" Thirty seconds. 

" Twenty seconds." 

" Give me a club, then," suddenly exclaimed 
the Scotsman, " and for Guid's sake give me 
a line to the hole. I canna drive if I dinna 
ken where I'm driving tae." 

" I'll show you the hole," said his opponent. 
" There it is— do you see ? " and he pointed 
into the blackness. 

" I'm no a cat, mon," answered James, 
ungraciously enough. 

" Well, then, do you see my hand ? That's 
the direct line. How to play the hole you 
must settle among yourselves." 

" Aweel, aweel," said James, " I'll just 
have a bang at it," teed his ball, and swung at 
it viciously. 

It is wonderful what a perfectly true swing, 
wherein the club travels like a piece of well- 
oiled machinery, will do even when the 
swinger can scarcely see his ball. Away sped 
the ball into the darkness like a rifle bullet. 

" I got under the tail of that one," quoth 
James, with renewed complacency. 

The enemy then teed his ball and struck a 
shot far more modest, and, as it appeared, 
much farther to the right. 

" I guess you are in the whins," he said, 
quietly. " They'll remind you of St. 

" Whins," gasped James, " straight on the 
line to the hole ? " 

" Well, this hole is considerable dog- 

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legged," Cyrus confessed, " unless you can 
carry near three hundred yards," and he dis- 
appeared into the gloom towards the right- * 
hand side. 

The others groped their way forward by 
a filtering ray of light from one of the lamp- 
posts. Stumbling over ridges and narrowly 
avoiding a deep pot-bunker, they seemed to 
have been walking interminable miles, when 
there loomed up in front of them a solid fast- 
ness of artificial gorse bushes, strong, spiky, 
and impregnable. Never on any course 
that was visited by the light of day were 
such fearsome whins seen. Each individual 
spike was like a poniard, and the whole was 
worse than a square armed with fixied 
bayonets. J 

" An idea of my own, ' said Cyrus, coining 
up, " made to my special design. The makers 
did not quite tumble to the idea at first, but 
now I guess I can give the Westward Ho ! 
rushes points. Ah, there's your ball, lying 
rather badly, I'm afraid." 

" Stuff!" said the Major; " you can't see it. 
I don't believe it's there " ; and he began to 
search desperately the surrounding country. 

Cyrus quietly produced his pocket-lamp 
and flashed it on the whins. There, sure 
enough, lay the ball among the very sharpest 
and strongest of the spikes. 

" A ball in the whins is like a ball in the 
burn," snapped the Major. " Lift, and lose a 

" If that's so," retorted Cyrus, rather 
unkindly, " you had better go and swim in 

The referee declared that there was no 
local rule, and that the ball must be played 
where it lay. This James firmly declined to 
do, averring that he would as soon play a 
dynamite cartridge ; the ball had to be 
picked out — no easy matter — and the hole 
abandoned. Cyrus appeared to find his own 
ball in the darkness with perfect ease, and the 
party walked on to the next tee. 

" Five hundred and fifty yards, that first 
hole," explained Cyrus ; " that's full length, 
anyway. This one is shorter." 

Once more he drove off a respectable shot, 
and once more James sent his ball whistling 
throbgh the air. Cyrus walked after his 
ball without the faintest hesitation. Indeed, 
the man who in daylight blinked through his 
spectacles, and relied entirely on his caddie to 
find the ball, now seemed to pierce the Stygian 
darkness with the naked eye. 

He walked up to his ball, took out some 
kind of heavy iron, and sent the ball, needless 
to say, out of sight. 

Original from 




shot/ 1 chirped 
** Take your 

Some eighty yards farther on James's ball 
was found lying beautifully, and a dim shape 
in front of hitn was pointed out as the plateau 
upon which the hole was* In front of the 
plateau the ground was, to all appearances, 
perfectly flat, 

41 A regular St, Arnolds 
Johnny, more cheerfully 
straight-faced iron, James. " 

" It's an easy game to play, Mr. Trickett," 
said the champion, " when you're no playing 
it yoursel' " ; hut he took that straight-faced 
iron obediently enough. Everyone knows 
that famous shot of his, wherein the ball 
skims along the ground, clambers up the 
steepest of hills, and then stops spent and 
lifeless by the holt's side. He struck the 
ball beautifully. 

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" He's played it," cried Johnny, and as he 
spoke there came the ominous splash of water, 

11 In the burn/' was Mr. Dodge's comment. 
" You see, Major/ 1 he added, rather mali- 
ciously, lt I've been careful to copy all the 
features of the best Scottish courses. r ] riere's 
an underground river running through this 
old cave of mine, ready to my hand. The 
River Styx you might call it " ; and the 
Major with difficulty restrained himself 
from manslaughter* Well, the ball was in 
the bum. It had to be lifted and dropped 
under a penalty of one stroke, and the loss 
was too great to be recovered. Two dow T n 
in two holes was a bad start, but worse was 
still to come. 

Indeed, with the third hole I come to the 
end of my tragic story. 

Original from 



w It is a short hole/' kindly explained the 
host. " One hundred and seventy-three yards. 
Cross ditch in front ; a pot-bunker close to 
the green on the left ; ground falls away 
from right to hJ 

" Mon," interrupted James, " do you 
think I can mind all that when I canna see 
five yards ? Major, for rny sake, go forw + ard 
and stand at the hole. I'll have your voice 
lo guide me, at ony rate." 

11 I dare say/' grumbled the Major ; " and 
tumble into a dashed brook." 

However, forward he went, and after much 
cursing and stumbling gave a hail from the flag. 

James played another from his magnificent 
repertory of iron shots, a low r forcing shot 
that would keep a ball flying straight through 
a blizzard. 

" Fore ! fore ! " yelled Cyrus, loudly. It 
was too late. There came a sharp rapping 
sound, followed by an unearthly yell from the 
unfortunate fore-caddk\ The Major was 
subsequently found dancing in agonies on 
the green. The ball had struck him on the 
ankle, whence it had playfully rebounded 
into a neighbouring bunker* 

"I'm real sorry/' Cyrus protested, " I 
saw it flying straight for you 
and shouted as loud as I could. 1 ' 

*' I'll play no more," said 
James , abruptly. c< I'll no play 
wi' a mon that can see a hundred 

and seventy-three yards when it's pit mirk. 
I'll no contend wi' the powers of darkness/' 
and he flung his clubs upon the ground. 

" You don't mean to say you really could 
see ? " asked johnny. 

l£ Why, yes, of course I could/' Cyrus 
answered, iL The fact is — it's a little hard 
on you fellows — but I can see in the dark 
when I can't see worth ten cents in the light. 
Guess I'm some sort of a freak, or had a cat 
for an ancestor * or something/' 

" Losh save us ! " whispered James, in an 
awestruck tone, " A cat for a grand m it her — 
Til play na mair." 

Nor would he, despite all that could be said. 

Cyrus professed the greatest anxiety for 
his guests to see the rest of the course. 

11 You haven't seen the best holes yet* 
There's one six hundred yards long — the 
finest three-shotter you ever saw* I should 
like the referee to be satisfied " 

l< That's all right/' broke in the Major, 
14 We're satisfied — perfectly satisfied. All we 
want is to get out of this confounded cavern 
of yours." 

Then he turned to his companion. 

" Johnny," he said* in the tones of a broken 
man, "we've been done — fairly 
done brown. There are more 
links in heaven and earth, my 
boy, than are dreamed of in 
our philosophy**' 


Digitized by GoOQIc 


Original from 

Water - Spiders — and How They 

Became So. 

Author of "Lift Historm 0/ Familiar Plants" "Some Nature Biographies" " Peeps Into Nature's Ways" etc. 

Illustrated from Original Photographs by the Author, 

We desire lo call attention to the extraordinary character of the photographs showing I be ipider 
capturing and diving with the large air-bubble. Owing to the rapid movement of the spider, each 
picture had to be photographed with not more than one- fiftieth part of a seconds exposure. The fact of 
photographing the spider at natural size + and also in water, are factors that greatly militate against getting 
a successful picture with such rapid exposures. Considering the difficulty of the subjeel, they make the 
finest set of photograph* ol the many that Mr. Ward has prepared for THE STRAND depicting the 
consecutive movements of small animals — a point that may be overlooked. 

IPIDERS have to be classed 
amongst the unpopular 
animal-. Generally speak- 
ing. man feels a kind of 
instinctive antipathy towards 
spiders, an antipathy which 
has probably arisen from the 
fact that some few species inhabiting warm 
parts of the earth possess poisonous properties 
that are dangerous to his rare ; British 
species, however, are harmless enough. 

Being, therefore, creatures under the ban 
of suspicion, they have been so much dis- 
regarded, and ignorance of their habits and 
functions in Nature has so long prevailed, that 
even in this enlightened age they are still 
creatures of evil repute ; although, if we 
really consider their virtues and their sins, 
we shall find that the former are numerous, 
while the latter are (excepting in the case of 
the poisonous species previously referred to) 
almost entirely absent. 

Indeed, it may cause some of my readers 
surprise to learn that our familiar spiders 
represent some of the most progressive and 
enterprising small animals that the earth 
has yet prod u ced ♦ Co mm encing a s t e rre s t r ial > 
air-breathing stock, they have trespassed 
from their natural domain, the surface of the 
earth j and tunnelled into its interior in a very 
marvellous manner, of which more anon. 
Abovegruund, also, they have been even 
more successful, utilizing almost every object 
from loose stones to flat walls, and the 
interiors of houses, as hunting-grounds in 
which to seek and snare their prey and rear 
their progeny. 

In the open, too, they have availed them- 
selves of almost every point of vantage ; the 
simple grass blade, the crevices in the bark 
of trees, their branches and their leaves have 
all proved useful in their economy. Then, 
having conquered all the available surfaces 

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that the earth presents, their next achieve- 
ment was to become aeronauts and add the 
atmosphere to their dominions, so many 
species developed the habit of spinning silken 
webs on which they could float high into the 
air and journey to fields and pastures new. 

Earth and air having then been conquered, 
there remained the water, and how success- 
fully they overcame the difficulties that an 
air-breathing animal has to contend with in 
adapting its conditions to aquatic life we 
shall learn presently. For the moment, 
however, let us inquire how these unpopular 
little animals arrived at such a successful 
evolution. The answer is simple, It was 
entirely due to the fact that they were 
spinners of silk. 

Probably the first use of silk-spinning was 
in the construction of the egg- cocoon f and 
for the protection of the mother and young. 
A little silk- lined cavity in the earth or 
between the loosened mortar of a stone wall 
is all the spinning that many species 
do ; indeed, some live as fearless hunters, 
chasing their prey in the oj>en and carrying 
with them their egg-cocoon s + 

When j however, some of the species that 
lived in silk-lined cavities drew over the 
entrance to their dwellings silken threads 
to keep out enemies, then, I think, the spider 
race commenced to conquer its surroundings 
and rise to higher attainments. Their 
development theme forth proceeded in two 
entirely different directions. Some of 
the free-hunting species evolved more and 
more complex dwelling tubes, and in this 
way protected themselves from the attacks 
of their enemies. Such species culminated 
in what are known as the trap-door spiders, 
which are common in Southern Europe and 
other parts of the earth. These creatures 
sink a shaft-like tunnel into the ground, 
well lined with silk and closed at the entrance 

Original from 



with a hinged and perfectly -fitting trap-door. 
When an enemy approaches the spider 
rushes back and bolts into its tube, pulling-to 
the door as it enters, and then clinging to the 
silken lining on the inside of the door and to 
the sides of the tube \ in this manner she 
is enabled to exert a considerable resistance, 
and usually defeats her enemy. 

The door is composed of alternate layers 
of silk and sand until the desired thickness is 
attained. If on sandy soil, the topmost layer 
is sand ; but when surrounded with vegeta- 
tion, bits of moss, grass, and other material 
are woven in so as to conceal the door when 
closed* In the tubes of some species a second 
door is found a short way underground. 
Thus ; if an enemy should break open the 
first door, the spider escapes into the second 
and there 
again resists 
the attack \ 
a feature 
which, to say 
the least of 
it, must be 
ing to the 
enemy that 
is attacking. 

We may 
regard these 
tubular re- 
treats with 
all their 
details as 
amongst the 
highest at- 
tainments in 

the lower animals. Nevertheless, it was 
not in this direction that the* 'spider 
race was destined to add largely to its 
dominions, and attain to that advancement 
which has given it a place in every available 
niche almost the whole world over. That 
advancement came from those species that 
neglected their subterranean dwellings for 
life amongst the herbage and trees. 

While closing the entrance to their retreats 
with silken threads, a vital discovery was 
made. It often happened that inquisitive 
insects became entangled amongst the threads, 
and incidentally those insects provided a 
meal — a meal without labour. That was a 
discovery ; so it dawned on the spider race 
that to set a snare was a more easy method 
of obtaining a meal than to hunt it down, 


Fiy. ( . — After ■ fe*ere f rott the wall 

protective industry amongst 

It was 3 then, a simple step to extend the 
web from the entrance of the dwelling-place to 
adjoining obstacles, and eventually to form a 
tangled snare amongst the branches and leaves 
of plants. When some species of the race had 
sufficiently advanced in their knowledge of 
snare-spreading to become geometricians^ we 
find that even a fiat brick wall presented a 
profitable hunting-ground, the almost invisible 
nets being spread from the projecting coping- 
stones, and anchored to rough points lower 
down the wall. During the summer-time, so 
inconspicuous are these snares that we rarely 
notice them, but in the early morning after 
a severe frost the whole wall suddenly 
becomes festooned as if a fairy had been at 
work (Fig. 1). So from the simple nets were 
evolved the more complex, and in the 

webs of our 
common gar 
den spiders 
(Fig- 2) we 
hiive p r e- 
sented the 
highest at- 
tainment in 
snare con- 

Thus on 
the one side 
we have the 
spiders with 
their won- 
derful silk- 
lined tubes 
and closing 
door, and on 
the other the orb-weavers with their intricate 
snares. The former is largely a protective 
device, although it obviously offers many 
advantages for attacking unsuspecting prey ; 
and the latter is chiefly a means of obtain- 
ing foodj but also possesses many pro- 
tective features, for few are the natural 
enemies that can successfully attack a spider 
in its web. 

As I have previously suggested, the spinning 
of silk led to many other advantages in the 
struggle for existence of the spider race. 
Small species and young spiders discovered 
that the tenuity of the silken strands emitted 
from their spinnerets caused them to float 
in the air, and so they found a means 
of transport and became aviators. Thus 
originatedOrtftlfin alaftrioiUfl species familiarly 

tern w4 1 mmr (Pm mM° onin **p itie ™' 

feitooned u if * fmiiy had been ml work. 



although probably the young of most species 
are addicted to aerial locomotion. 

These spider aeronauts are not so much at 
the mercy of the breeze as at first might be 
supposed, for when they desire to alight they 
draw in their lines and so contract their 
11 balloon " surface, in this way steadily 
coming earthwards until a tree or other object 
is caught by one of its threads. Also, I am 
inclined to think that this habit of making 
aerial voyages possesses advantages other 
than merely that of being able to travel to 
new feeding districts; the flight itself is a 
means of acquiring food, for while travelling 
through the air the sticky threads would 
doubtless entangle many minute insects that 
serve as suitable prey* 

Sometimes the floating threads of the 
numerous individuals 
become attached, and 
so masses of gauzy 
material are pro- 
duced, and, owing to 
moisture and the 
changing temperature 
of the air -currents* 
this silky material 
falls and covers trees 
and fields in an extra- 
ordinary manner, con- 
stituting the so-called 
* ' gos sam er show ers . ' J 
Later in the day, 
when the moisture in 
the air becomes less, 
they again ascend in 
flake-like pieces. 

In the manner here 
outlined, then, has 
the spider, by the 
means of its spun silk, 
brought every avail- 
able object on the 
earth into service in 
its economy, and like- 
wise by Ihe same 
means it has invaded the air ; in each case, 
too, the methods adopted have been carried 
to an extraordinary degree of perfection. 

There yet remained the water to conquer, 
however, That indeed was a difficult prob- 
lem, for spiders are air-breathing creatures. 
Nevertheless, a progress i%'c race of animals 
like the spiders could not afford lo leave such 
a rich hunting-field unexplored. Had they 
not spinning organs and silk ? Vet of what 
service could these be in assisting them to 
breathe air beneath the water ? 

I have alreadv referred to the free-hunting 

Digitized by CiOOglC 

Fiffr 2, — The complex marc of a garden spider. 

spiders which chase and run down their prey. 
Now, some species of these that haunt the 
margins of pools are able to run on the surface- 
film of the water in pursuit of their quarry, 
and if alarmed will hide beneath the surface, 
clinging to a leaf or stem and remaining 
under the water until the danger is past, for 
they carry with them a supply of air entangled 
in the furry covering of their bodies. 

Still another related but more rare species 
constructs a crude kind of raft, composed 
of bits of leaves attached with silken threads , 
and resting on this it floats about the pool 
watching for falling flies and unsuspecting 
insects that come to the surface to breathe, 
and these are quickly captured and carried 
back to the raft where their captor feeds. 
Such are some of the remarkable accom- 
plishments these pro- 
gressive little land 
animals perform in 
order to extend their 
predatory excursions, 
but they represent 
o n 1 y th e 1 K'gi nn in g 
of their marvellous 
achievements in this 

Eventuallya branch 
of the spider family 
evolved to such per- 
fection in its adapta- 
tion for aquatic life 
that it not only was 
enabled to dive and 
remain beneath the 
water for a short 
period of time, but 
found life in the water 
so much more profit- 
able that it ' now 
spends nearly the 
whole of its exist- 
ence submerged, 
s<eking its prey, 
rearing its family 
successfully, and even hibernating for 
the winter in the watery depths. So 
much did this progressive species advance 
that it has outpaced all its competitors, and 
now stands isolated as the one race of spiders 
that are masters of our fresh waters. The 
water-spider (Argyroneta atfualica) is T there- 
fore, a distinguished individual in the spider 
world, and monopolizes a whole scientific 
family designated Argyronetidfr, a title based 
on its generic name and compounded of tw r o 
Greek words that signify a spindle and silver, 
A glance at Fiss- a ftPfi-,-,6 will explain the 




term as derived from the spindle-shaped body 
of the spider and its silvery air-bubble. 
Fortunately the pools and streams of the 
British Isles and other parts of Europe are 
the home of this highly-evolved little animal, 
and we are therefore enabled to observe it 
carry ingon its wonder- 
ful work in the waters. 

Many times have 1 
watched the interest- 
ing movements of this 
little creature building 
its home beneath the 
water, and after many 
efforts I have suc- 
ceeded in getting a 
camera record of one 
of its journeys when 
conveying an air- 
bubble from the sur- 
face of the water to 
its nest, a photo- 
graphic accompl ish- 
ment which has 'pro- 
bably never been 
achieved before. 

In the first place it 
is well to note that 
the underside tif the 
water-spider's body is 
clothed with branched 
hairs, which are ar- 
ranged so closely that 
they form a velvety 
pile that refuses the Fi( 3. 
water. Consequently, 
when it is seen mov- 
ing about in the water, it invariably has tiny 
air-hubhles clinging to its body. Sometimes, 
though, it is seen diving downwards, bur- 
dened with a large bubble that glistens like 
a globule of quicksilver, and which is held 
against, its body by its hind pair of legs. In 
the former case it is simply carrying sufficient 
air for respiratory purposes, in the latter it is 
taking a fresh supply to aerate its home in 
the water below. 

To realize how marvellously this spider has 
become adapted to aquatic life we have but 
to watch it working in the water. 

Being, like other spiders, an air-breathing 
animal, its first essential is air for respiratory 
purposes. That, as we have seen T is obtained 
from the tiny air-bubbles that cling round the 
undersides of its body, where the slit-like 
openings occur through which it takes in 
air, for it does not breathe through the mouth 
parts as we do. This aspect of aquatic life 
did not present any considerable difficulty. 

The fpktaf leave* id 
Asccndi to catch 

The spider, however, is a predatory animal, 
and to have to keep coming to the surface 
for breathing purposes would expose it and 
scare away its prey* It was essential to its 
successful struggle for existence that it 
should have a sufficient supply of air below 

water to remain there, 
and therefore every 
opportunity to achieve 
that end was imme- 
diately seized upon by 
these aquatic pioneers, 
To-day the scheme 
is one of the marvels 
of creation j for, though 
the spider is perfectly 
adapted for life in its 
sub-aquatic home ; yet 
it is still able to leave 
the water and move 
about the land with- 
out inconvenience. 

In another respect 
the habit of spinning 
silk gained for the 
spider a progressive 
victory. When it 
spun a few threads in 
the water in the hope 
of ensnaring prey, it 
discovered that the 
air- T bu bb 1 es from its 
body became en- 
tangled with them. 
That probably was the 
first hint on which the 
progenitors of the 
water-spiders seized for the construction of 
a dwelling-place in the depths. 

It is a remarkable fact that the spider does 
not first construct her nest and then fill it 
with air, but instead it first obtains the air. 
and then smears it over with liquid silk until 
it is enclosed in quite a strong covering. This 
points to the conclusion that its first efforts 
in nest-building were on the lines suggested 
in the previous paragraph. 

To-day it selects a suitable site amongst 
the water-weeds, attaching to the latter a 
few mooring-1 ines ; it then commences its 
journeys to the surface, returning from each 
journey with an air-bubble until sufficient 
has been entangled amongst the mooring- 
lines for it to work upon with the liquid silk. 
In Fig. 3 the completed nest is shown with 
the spider just about to ascend for a fresh 
supply of air, and it should be noted that the 
entrance to the dwelling is at the base. 
It then'tft'e'i't^'tte'sLrface, and, as shown 


Tteit bcnejilh the waler anJ 
an air- bubble. 



in Fig. 4, quickly jerks 
out into the air the end 
of its abdomen , which 
the moment it appears 
above the surface is seen 
to be quite dry. An 
instant later the spider 
is rapidly diving through 
the water with a large 
silvery air-bubble held 
between its hind pair of 
legs, as shown in Figs. 
5 and 6. In the latter 
photograph its touch is 
seen to have indented 
the inflated top of the 
nest, but this is regain- 
ing its rotundity in Fig, 
7, where the spider is 
seen travelling down the 
side to the entrance 
below, and still retain- 
ing the air-bubble. 

In Fig. 8 the spider 
is only partly seen, being 
at the door of her dwell- 
ing* where she is re- 
leasing the air so that it 
can ascend to the 
nursery in the upper 

Fi|. 4, 

-On reaching ihc suriacr, it quickly extXHc-t its 
re Ei lo the almuphere aimI entangle; some air, 

part. In the last illus- 
tration (Fig. 9) the 
nest is seen fully in- 
flated with air, with the 
male spider covered with 
tiny air-bubbles waiting 
in attendance at the 

Eventually the green 
water - weeds grow up 
and hide the cocoon 
from view;, and the 
female spider is able 
to attend to family 
matters, for w ? hen the 
young spiders are 
hatched they are devoid 
of the hairy covering 
that makes them water- 
proof at a later age, 
and would easily 
drown. They have, 
therefore, to be kept 
plentifully supplied 
with air in the chamber , 
in which there may be 
a hundred or more of 
the young. Also, from 
the door of her home 
hidden in the depths 

Fw ^ylt ihep rapidly divei. Holding ihe air- bubble by of 
it* hind p*ir of lent, where it glutem JiLte a globule oE quicksilver, 

Fig, 6,—Qfi .re*chin? ihe iurface pt Jli-ne-tit l b* spider 



Fig, 7. runt down the side toward* tKe entrance At 

the boae. whete 

the mother spider makes 
predatory attacks upon 
small insects, larvae, and 
worms, Further, her sub- 
aqua tic home protects 
her from the attarks of 
her enemies, for she in 
turn becomes prey for 
some of the larger in- 
sects, such as water- 
beetles, and especially 
dragon-fly larvae. In the 
winter both male and 
female undergo a semi- 
hibernation until early 
spring, only coming out 
on mild days to feed. 
The air-cell in which 
they rest is attached to 
the weeds, and is of 
a much more simple 
type than the cocoon 

Fig, 9. — it pu$b« in lit abdomen *odl releafc* the air-Pebble, 

which ascend* into the upprr part of trie nest where the spider 
lives and rears its offspring, 

in which the young are 

Such is the story of 
the evolution of the 
spider's snare from ter- 
restrial to aquatic con- 
ditions. Spiders may 
be unpopular animals, 
but so useful are they 
in exterminating noxious 
insects that they should 
never be destroyed ; and 
if any of my readers 
should be tempted to 
kill, or even shudder at 
the sight of, a spider, 
may I ask them to think 
of the wonderful work of 
these little spinners of 
silk and the interesting 
water-spider that makes 
its home in the pool ? 

Fig. 9. Iti thu phoiogTup-h I he tint 11 shon n when 
filled wilh air x and with ihe m*V spider (c^ri.-'J 
with liny air-huhb-Ln) wailing in attendance at the 

en . f .n« wow, ,h. fe m .fc •*NITO/#fr-0F MICHIGAN 



OW it happened that I found 
myself in the City Road* and 
opposite Windsor Terrace, one 
evening recently, I cannot 
possibly say. But there I 
was, and there was the house 
of Mr. Micawber, with the 
large brass plate on the door, announcing 
tliLtL impossible boarding establishment for 
young ladies to which no pupils ever went. 
There also, in an easy and dignified attitude 
upon the doorstep, and yet with some air of 
expectancy, stood Mr- Mi caw her, in brown 
surtout, black tights, shoes, and everything. 
He was looking anxiously up and down the 

Presently there emerged from the gloom of 
the evening Mr, Richard Swiveller, with his 
hat very much on one side. Trotting beside 
him, with her mob cap fluttering in the 
breeze, and her shoes for ever threatening to 
come off, was the immortal Marchioness, 

Anxiety swept away from the face of Mr + 
Micawber, He beamed upon his visitors. 
" Welcome ! " he exclaimed, with a wave of 
his hand towards i he door. u May 1 beg that 
you will do me the honour to cross the 
threshold of what is, for the time being at least, 
my domicile (though Heaven knows how 
long, unless something turns up, of which f 
am in hourly expectation it may be my 
domicile I cannot say). In short " — Mr. 
Micawber waved his hand again towards the 
hall — li come in. 1 ' 

Mrs. Micawber, who was burdened by the 
one twin then in hand ; did the honours ; Mr. 
Micawber, bustling about to get lemons and 

sugar and hot water, in which duties 
he was wonderfully assisted by the 
Marchioness, proceeded to brew a 
bowl of punch. Something very 
great must have been a foot , for not 
a word was said until, in due 
course, glasses had been filled and 
had been passed round* And even 
when the Marchioness so far forgot 
the importance of the occasion 
as to declare that she liked the 
compound a great deal better 
than her favourite cold water 
with orange peel in it, Mr. 
Swiveller merely turned a pained 
eye upon her as an admonition 
for her to be silent, 

Mr, Micawber rose and cleared 
his throat- Placing his right hand 
carefully within his waistcoat, he 
looked round upon the assembled 
company, and began what was 
evidently a very difficult business. 

'* My friends/' said Mr, Micawber, i£ it is 
my proud privilege to call you here to- 
night, at what one might almost term 
the witching hour, beneath the roof tha* 

shelters Mrs. Micawber ,J 

" Who will never desert you, .Micawber/" 
murmured that lady. 

u My love, I am well aware of it," responded 
Mr. Micawber. ll We are assembled, my 
friends, because, as one of the senior members 
of that great and glorious company called 
forth out of what I might term the limbo of 
the imagination by the great mind of I he 
Master, it devolves upon me to point out to 
you— and, incidentally, to the world at large 
— that there are certain matters claiming 
your immediate attention." 

Here Mr. Micawber mopped his brow 
and coughed* Mr. Dick Swiveller took 
what he would have termed il a modest 

ik I have some acquaintance with coals, in 
a genteel way," proceeded Mr. Micawber, 
li and I have also dabbled — toyed j I mi^ht 
almost say — with wine. These are com- 
modities which may be purchased by those 
who have the wherewithal. They are a 
species of property which may not be stolen 
from a man, save under the possibility of 
pains and penalties. Hut 1 am given to 
understand that this is not the case with 
books or with writings, which are merely, 
like ourselves, things of the imagination, 
And the monstrous thing has come about 
that those on whom the Master would have 
bestowed the'JtfUOB'KaJ Ifeffflork — in short, his 




descendants — are in actual need of the good 
things, and even the necessary things, of 

"It's a staggerer !" exclaimed Mr. Swiveller, 
blankly. " It's an accumulation of staggerers!" 

" Will it be believed/' continued Mr. 
Micawber, now getting very heated and 
waving his arms about in a very ecstasy of 
emotion, " that this great man, who created 
Us and many others who are more real than 
the living people in this great throbbing 
world of London — will it be believed for an 
instant that he has descendants at the present 
time who are glad to be in the receipt of a 
beggarly Civil List pension of twenty-five 
pounds a year ? I pause for a reply." 

Here Mr. Richard Swiveller dolefully 
shook his head, and murmured over his glass, 
" When he who adores thee has left but the 

name- — 

" And what a name ! " exclaimed Mr. 
Micawber, rolling his head in his capacious 
shirt collar. " Is there a man, a woman, or 
even a child in these blessed isles, or even in 
the fair dominions overseas, who has delighted 
in us and in the other creatures of the Master's 
fancy — is there one, I ask, that would not 
gladly contribute his mite or her mite — in 
short, stump up — in such a cause as this ? 
And when I tell you, my friends, that the 
mite asked for, and for which a substantial 
return is offered, is but the wholly inadequate 
sum of almost the smallest coin of the realm 
— in short, one penny — I feel that even our 
friend the Marchioness would be willing to 

Mr. Micawber mopped his forehead and 
even his eyes, and the , Marchioness clapped 
her hands in approval, in much the same 
fashion she must have done when Mr. Richard 
Swiveller first came out of his fever. 

" Certain stamps, cunningly engraved, and 
decorative in the extreme, are at this very 
moment being turned out, if I may use such 
an expression, by certain great printing 
presses," went on Mr. Micawber. " They 
are of an adhesive character, and may be 
placed within the volumes which all of us 
are proud to possess. They are produced at 
the price of one penny, a sum which cannot 
in any circumstances be said to be a 
drain upon the resources of even the most 
needy. In short," exclaimed Mr. Micawber, 
" they are cheap." 

Mr. Micawber refreshed himself with the 
punch, beamed upon Mrs. Micawber and the 
twins, and with great relish wound up what 
he had to say. 

" Holding, as I do, those stern and stringent 

views upon economy which have, most 
unhappily, not guided my life as they might 
have done, and as Mrs. Micawber's family 
would have wished, I say this to you. Taking 
the case of a typical man who knows us, I 
say : Weekly income even twenty shillings ; 
weekly expenditure nineteen shillings and 
sixpence, and one Dickens stamp — result, 
happiness. Weekly income twenty shillings ; 
weekly expenditure twenty shillings and six- 
pence, and no Dickens stamp — result, misery. 
The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, 
the god of day goes down upon the dreary 
scene, and — and, in short, you are for ever 
floored. As you well deserve to be." 

In a great state of heat and excitement 
Mr. Micawber sat down and mopped his brow, 
and then drank a whole glassful of punch 
without winking^ Mr. Richard Swiveller 
got slowly to his feet, adjusted his hat to a 
nicety, and, leaning one hand with a negligent 
air upon the table, and smiling benevolently 
upon the Marchioness, added a word or two. 

" In the present sociable circumstances, 
and in the company of one who might, had 
I but known him earlier, have been almost 
the companion of a chequered youth, and in 
the further company of one " — here Dick 
bowed towards the Marchioness — " who, 
whatever may be lacking in her composition 
in regard to a natural taste for beer in its 
native pewter, has yet a friendly affection for 
keyholes and cards, I would wish to- observe 
that I most heartily endorse what has been 
said by our friend, and I shall deny myself 
the comfort of a visit to a hostelry where 
already the score against me is larger than is 
altogether convenient, in order that I may 
contribute to the scheme which Mr. Micawber 
has so eloquently propounded to us." 

Mr. Swiveller sat down, and Mrs. Micawber, 
shedding tears gently over the twin, 
murmured : — 

" Even as I will never desert Mr. Micawber, 
so I trust that the great British public will 
never desert the memory of Charles Dickens." 

Shadows of dreams and fancies ? Perhaps. 
Yet I came out from Windsor Terrace into 
the hurly-burly of the City Road, and the 
men and women walking there, and going 
about the daily business of their lives, were 
not more real to me than the men and women 
born of the Master's brain, that had been the 
friends and companions of my youth and 
manhood, as they have been the friends and 
companions of all the English-speaking public 
—that puHic that is asked todo this little thing 
in memory of him — to buv a penny stamp. 


The Power of Beauty. 


Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, 
The power of beauty I remember yet. 

— Dryden. 


BEAUTIFUL woman, a 
beautiful rose, and a beau- 
tiful sunset are the mysteries 
of life for which one would 
gladly live life again." So 
wrote Heine; and we who 
recognize that these mys- 
teries are ever about us — of daily occurrence 
in our lives — feel, too, that it is only the super- 
lative of which the poet spoke and which we 
admire. Beauty in woman is often only a 
phrase — a mere courtesy quality as it were — 
and in this the comparative sense beautiful 
women are as plentiful as good women or 
clever women. But real beauty — perfection 
of form and feature and colouring, and " every 
wondrous attribute in woman that ever snared 
Apollo " — is only seen in one amongst a 
million. Such beauty is power. The world 
cannot resist it ; such beauty, though the 
possessor be of lowly birth, can move onward 
and upward, without other influence, without 
brains, even without breeding, to fame and 
wealth and high estate. 

Who are the most beautiful women who 
have lived during the past three centuries ? 
It sounds a difficult question to answer, but 
it is really easy. For, after a list of fifty 
acknowledged beauties was prepared and 
submitted by the present writer to three 
different experts, authorities in art and belles- 
lettres as well as connoisseurs in portraiture, 
there were fourteen upon whom each agreed 
independently of the other, and this list of 
fourteen beauties probably represents, if the 
art of the painter and the testimony of the 
historian and memoir- writer be considered, 
a group of the most beautiful women of 
modern times. 

Just as Mr. Sargent has declared that the 
Duchess of Sutherland is " the most beauti- 
ful woman who ever sat to him," so did the 
great Van Dyck make a similar declaration 
about Beatrice de Cusance, the daughter of 
Claude Francois de Beauvois, the greatest 
beauty of her time and one of the most 
fascinating ladies at the Court of Brussels. 

In 1635 s he was led to the altar by the Prince 
de Cante Croix, who left her a widow in 1637. 
During her short wedded life she had capti- 
vated the heart of the Due de Lorraine, who 
now repudiated his first wife in order to marry 
the fair widow. As a consequence, infinite 
gossip and scandal at all the European Courts 
ensued, and the Pope refused to sanction the 
marriage. Still, for a time Beatrice was very 
happy, until a few years later another great 
beauty appeared above the horizon ; the Duke 
was drawn thither, and she was deserted. 
When Van Dyck painted her she was in the 
heyday of her charms, and, as we have said, 
the painter acknowledged that no woman 
so radiant had ever crossed his path, either 
as man or as painter. " Few portraits among 
Van Dyck's masterpieces," writes the painter's 
biographer, the late director of our National 
Gallery, " are so alluring as that of Beatrice 
de Cusance as she trips up the steps of the 
palace, with a little spaniel barking at her 
feet, casting as she goes a look from her eyes 
enough to fascinate any beholder, whether 
Royal duke or otherwise." This portrait is 
at Windsor Castle, where it was a great 
favourite of the late King ; and a repetition 
is at Warwick Castle. 

Of all the pictures that Lely painted, and 
of all that wondrous group of Restoration 
ladies who ever sat to him, Miss Hamilton, 
Countess of Grammont, was the finest. As 
for the picture, Lely himself " bestowed all his 
art upon it, and confessed that he had taken 
a special delight in painting it." It is the 
only one he signed. Who was this wondrous 
lady whose portrait made such a sensation ? 
She was the daughter of Sir George Hamilton, 
the Earl of Abercorn's son, and was nineteen 
when Charles II. came to the throne. Her 
beauty brought her offers of marriage from the 
Duke of Richmond, the Duke of Norfolk, and 
the Earl of Tyrconnel, but she refused them 
all and wedded the Comte de Grammont, who 
had been banished from France for making 
love to one of the French King's favourites. 

" Whe nj^,'^^'^^tefi ime at close 



quarters/' we read in his u Memoirs/ 1 ** he 
perceived that 1k j had seen nothing at Court 
until this moment. She was at that happy 
age when a woman's supreme charms com- 
mence to bloom, She had the finest figure, 
the finest neck, and the finest arm in the whole 
world — though tall, gracious in all her move- 
ments. As for her complexion, it had a fresh- 
ness that the colours of art could not imitate.' 

look at her. There were mobs at the doors 
to see her and Lady Coventry get into their 
chaises, and people go early to get places at 
the theatre when it is known they were to be 

Seldom has any monarch, .statesman, 
warrior, or poet attracted more attention 
than these two peerless beauties did in the 
middle of the eighteenth century. Who 


From the Painting by Van Dyck. 

u La belle Hamilton ,? was by all accounts 
the most beautiful woman of her day. She 
lived until the reign of Queen Anne. 

"" The world is still mad about the Gun- 
nings," wrote the indefatigable Walpole. 
" When the Duchess of Hamilton was pre- 
sented last Sunday the excitement was so 
great that even the noble crowd in the draw- 
ing-room .stood upon its chairs and tables to 

Vol. ill.- 39 

were the Gunnings ? The story of their 
career has been penned a hundred times. 
Who has not heard of these two Irish girls, 
daughters of John Gunning, a briefless 
barrister, who crossed the Channel to seek 
their fortunes with only their lovely persons 
for dowry ? The surpassing beauty of this 
pair has become a matter of history — and a 
piece ofOhgftQB+frOTP ara ' le,e ^- While the 



girls were still 
very young, liv- 
ing in sec ins ion 
b the half- 
ruined Castle 
Coote, t h e 
mother's ambi- 
tion begun to 
awake, stirring 
in her heart an 
eager desire to 
show the world 
what loveliness 
was blushing un- 
seen in the wilds 
of Connaught. 
So she gathered 
together what 
money she could; 
and in 1750 car- 
ried her family 
to Dublin. Here 
although intro- 
ducing her 
daughters to 
gaiety, M r >♦ 
Gunning had 
many hard trials, 
.so thai she seized 
with joy the op- 
portunity which 
came next year 
of visiting Lon- 
don with her tv. 
hard to sav which 



k V « 



J9|I 1 


the: countess of grammont. 

From the Paint inn by Lely. 
From i\ Phtftvgraph by H' r A, Afnnsefi fr* C&, 

nineteen, Eliza- 
beth eighteen. 
The former is 
said to have had 
the more deli- 
cate features and 
the sweeter 
smile, while the 
latter was more 
serene and arch. 
But both had 
the same splen- 
did height and 
lissomness, oval 
f a c e Sj long, 
seductive eyes, 
delicate mouths, 
and exquisite 

Already fami- 
liar, too, is the 
story of Eliza- 
beth^ marriage 
with the young 
Duke of HamiL- 
ton at midnight, 
with the ring of 
a bed -curtain. 
Her sister Maria, 
too, had an 
ardent suitor — 
Lord Coventry, 
and he was by 

o daughters. It would be 
was the lovelier. Maria was 

this marriage, fearful of losing her t incited to 
a declaration, and so, three weeks later, led 


(Maria Gunning), 
By permission nf Mr. Evelyn }. Fdmhawe 

3 y Google 

(Elizabeth Gunning). 


iqmal from 



the loss of his immense fortune occasioned 
her visit to her great friend and exile, Mme. 
de Stat I, in Switzerland. Here she was 
thrown much in the society of Prince August 
of Prussia, who alone of all her numerous 
admirers succeeded in winning her heart. 
Her complexion at sixty was said to have 
rivalled that of a young girl. 

All the world now knows that it was not 
Louis XV. or his Ministers, but Mme, de 
Pompadour, who governed the kingdom of 
France. fhis daughter of a humble .irmy 
commissary. Francois Poisson* had been >ome 
time installed at Versailles, first as mistress 
and afterwards as ami nfcessaire. It is 
amazing to read of the incessant artifices this 
woman resorted to in order to keep her 
power — " the everlasting huntings, concerts, 
private theatricals, little suppers, and what 
not — anv thing to d is tract the Royal mini I and 
to make it think only of the clever purveyor 
of gaieties/ 1 Being a woman of real ability, 
she gradually became Premier of France, 
and the Ministerial council condescended to 
assemble in her boudoir. She excelled in 


From the Painting by F. Gerard 
From a Fh&tegraflh &y Ncunititi. 

her to the altar. Uraxall, who saw 
Elizabeth when she was fifty, says 
lh she seemed, indeed, composed of 
finer clay than the re^t of her sex." 
Retaining her loveliness almost to the 
end, this peerless woman passed away 
in 1796 at the age of fifty-eight, 

Among the French queens of society 
Mnu\ Rrcamut has certainly earned 
for herself an historic place. Specially 
brilliant she was not. hut she seemed 
invested with a bewildering beauty 
and charm j whose fascination ap- 
pealed more to the finer senses in 
men rather than to the fiercer pas- 
sions, which she neither inspired nor 
experienced herself. Jeanne Fran$oise 
Julie Adelaide Bernard was horn in 
1777 at Lyons, the daughter of a 
banker of that city. She was edu- 
cated under I he charge of an aunt in 
the Convent of La J>cserU\ and at 
the age of fifteen she joined her 
parents in Paris, where thev had 
moved some time previously. Shortly 
after she was married to M. Jacques 
Kecamier, a rich banker, about three 
times her own age, with whom she 
lived in a spirit ot ramai^dftiq^lfl^ 





music, elocution, and drawing ; bul the per- 
fect grace \\\\A beauty of her figure and her 
exquisite art in dressing were her crowning 
accomplishments, and won for her the power 
she exercised until her death. 

11 The mosi. delicate flower I have seen in 
a long time/" siiid John Wilkes when he heard 
the young Bath debutante. Miss Elizabeth 
Linley, sing at a concert in London in 1773, 

father, who was a composer and music- 
master, and amongst her *uitors was an 
elderly bachelor named Long, whom the 
beauty detested and wished to flee from. In 
this desire she was abetted by a certain clever 
and good-looking youth, a friend of her 
father's, named Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
With his connivance she secretly escaped from 
Bath and took ship to Dunkirk, with the 


From the Pa inline by G&imboroufh. By permission of Lord Rothschild 
From a Carfwn Print by Bratm r/Zfflfn/, DormacJL 

when she was nineteen years old. Horace 
Walpole wirnt further — he placed her " above 
all living beauties/ 1 The Bishop of Neath, 
on beholding her, declared she was t+ the con- 
necting link between woman and angel/' Sir 
Joshua Reynolds was so impressed that he 
besought her to sit to him for his * £ St. Cecilia " 
and for the Virgin in his ki Nativity/' Miss 
Lin lev sang in oratorios arranged bv her 

Digitized by Google 

intention of boarding at a convent at Lille. 

But Sheridan frankly told the beautiful girl 

that, although he was willing to help her, he 

could not be content to leave her in a convent 

unless she consented first to marry him, as, 

after the step she had taken in running away 

from her father in his company, she could 

hardly appear in England save as his wife. 

So, at a village near .Calais, the marriage 





From the Painting by Reynolds. 
From rt th&t^ymph hy IV. A. Nan&tll *5** £&. 

ceremony was performed by a com- 
plaisant priest, although both parlies 
only regarded it as a be 1 roth nl. On 
the lie els of this escapade over came 
old Mr. Linley, who carried his 
daughter back to Hath. His friend 
Mathews denounced young Sheridan 
as li a liar and a treacherous scoun- 
drel/' and a duel was the result, in 
which Mathews was disarmed and 
had to beg for his life. Another duel 
resulted in Sheridan being wounded, 
but a year later he was married in 
England to Miss Linley with her 
father's permission. After her marri- 
age the beauty declined to sing in 
public, although she kept her won- 
derful voice to the end. She died at 
thirty-eight. "No other voman of 
her time/" remarks Mr. Fraser Rae 1 
"possessed in larger measure than 
Mrs, Sheridan beauty, talent, and 
virtue." She is said to have been 
the only lady fur whom that eminent 
connoisseur in female beauty, the 
Duke ot (la rent t\ ever sighed in vain. 
On a certain December night in 
j 7 7*S Drury Lane Theatre was crowded 
to see a n presentation ot (iarrick's 
version of the ht Winter's Tale/' The 
most important topic was not the 


play or Garrick, but the marvellous 
beauty of Mrs. Robinson, who played 
Perdita. The chief actor, when it was 
rumoured that the young Prince of 
Wales would attend the performance, 
prophesied that the lady would captivate 
l he Royal Prince. His prediction proved 
true. After the performance there came 
into her hands, through Lord Maiden, a 
letter signed '* Florizeh" It began an 
amorous correspondence between the 
Prince and this girl of twenty, who had 
already known something of the vicissi- 
tudes of life, Mary Darby (the Darby 
had once been McDermott) was a native 
of PrisLoL who at sixteen had married 
a clerk named Robinson, who became 
arrested for debt, and she shared his 
imprisonment. While in prison and 
nursing her child the girl-mother wrote 
a volume of poems, which she showed to 
the Duchess of Devonshire, who had 
them published. On her release after 

by Google 


From the Punting by Romney. 
From a t^kitiyrtaft,' .V Jf ". A Ma hm 11 &* Cat. 




ten months' confine- 
ment she was engaged 
by Garriek, and made 
her appearance on the 
stage as Juliet with great 
success On receiving 
the billet-doux from the 
Prince she answered it, 
signing herself u Per- 
dita/* and after several 
letters had been ex- 
changed a meeting was 
arranged at Kew. So 
great was young George's 
infatuation that, wish- 
ing to give her a present, 
he gladly signed a bond 
for twenty thousand 
pounds, to be paid when 
lie came of age. 


Fr*m the Hamlnff hy Roinney. 
Frwtt a Photograph by H\ A* M*n**ll& &\ 

C^Vnr a Ph&t&£%i&h 


From the Pa i nuns by Lnwrence. 
tip'; h r W. ■■** Matwtii 

But the Royal lover 
was fickle- The lady 
became talked about , 
and left the stage. She 
went to Paris on a 
pension of five hundred 
pounds a year, where 
her beauty attracted 
great attention, hut she 
prudently declined over- 
tures from the Duke of 
Orleans, and opened an 
academy, Marie Antoi- 
nette presented her with 
a purse knitted by her 
own hands and a note 
1 ■■ to " la belle Attglaxse." 
She returned finally to 
England and literature, 
B fffljffl£ many poems and 




plays before her 
death, crippled and 
impoverished in 
1800, at the age 
of forty. 

1 1 was an age of 
beautiful women, 
and a contempo- 
rary of " Perdita '* 
was the famous 
Dorothy Jordan, 
who, beginning life 
as a milliners 
assistant in Dublin, 
went on the stage ; 
where her father 
filled the humble 
post of scene- 
shifter. At first 
her beauty won 
her way, but after- 
wards her talents 
asserted them- 
selves and she 
became one of the 
leading actresses 
ol the day, second 
perhaps only to 
Mrs. S 1 d d o n s, 
Byron declared her 
Mathews called her 
exquisite being, as distinct 
being in the world as she 


fitvm g Fhtfi&graflk by H '. ■&* IK DoivaejK fifa<*y Street. 

superb, and the elder 

an extraordinary and 

from any other 

was superior to 

all her contemporaries in her particular line 
of acting. Sir Joshua Reynolds preferred 
hex to all the actresses of his time. 

Naturally such a 
paragon would have 
a host of admirers. 
She was known as 
the wife of Sir 
Richard Ford for 
a time, but m 1790 
she accepted the 
attentions of the 
Duke of Clarence 
(William IV.}, and 
in course of time 
bore him ten child- 
ren, all known 
under the name of 
FitzClarence, and 
several of whom 
became famous sol- 
diers, sailors, and 
divines. The Duke 
allowed her one 
thousand pounds a 
year , and when the 


fit ot ft a r-i,Koi;nifih &y Rxacit &* S$ 

v Google 

King sought to 
have this reduced 
to five hundred 
pounds Mrs, Jor- 
dan } by way of 
reply, cut off tlv 
legend on the bot 
torn of the Drury 
Lane playbill and 
sent it to the Duke 
— 4£ No money re- 
turned after the 
rising of the cur- 
tain.' J Afterwards, 
when a separation 
tame she was 
secured an income 
of four thousand 
four hu n dred 
pounds a year. 
She survived until 
1816^ although a 
hangs about her 
death, and many 
(even her daugh- 
ter) deck red they 
had seen her alive 
after she was sup- 
posed to be buried. Her portrait w T as often 
painted, and one by Romney, as c The 
Country Girl/' was in the possession of her 
son. Colonel FitzClarence* first Earl of 
Minister. A statue of her was executed by 
Chan trey for her former lover, William IV, 
The story of Amy Lyon, the daughter of 

the humble 
Cheshire villager, 
who by her won- 
drous beauty rose 
to a pitch of Euro- 
pean renown, is 
an astonishing in- 
stance of beauty's 
power. The future 
Lady Hamilton was 
christened Amy, 
but after trying the 
various changes of 
Amyly + Emyly,and 
E m i 1 y. finally 
adopted Emma 
and wishing abo a 
chiin ge of surname 
christened tv rself 
Hart, when at six- 
teen sh? came to 
London as lady's- 
maid. After an 

Hriginal from 



extraordinary career of vicissitudes she came 
under the protection of the Hon. Charles 
Greville, who introduced her to Romney, 
who was inspired hy her loveliness to 
paint from her some of his finest pictures. 
At twenty-eight she had become the wife 
of the Ambassador at Naples, Sir William 
Hamilton. There she met Nelson, and there- 
after her history 
is entwined with 
his own. She was 
obliged, at fifty, 
to flee from her 
cred i tors to 
Calais, where she 
died in 1815, 

Eighty years 
ago all England 
rang with the 
fame of Miss 
Croker \s beauty. 
This young lady 
had been brought 
up in the atmo- 
sphere of kings 
and pa' aces. 
She was the 
young sister of 
the wife of a 
once famous 
politician, John 
Wilson Croker. 
Secretary to the 
Admiralty. He 
adopted the little 
girl, Rosamund, 
as his daughter, 
and she took his 
name. Being 
always a wel- 
come visitor at 
Carlton House, 
Windsor. and 
the Pavilion at 
Brighton, and the 
Prince Regent 
being fond of 
children, Miss 
Croker was never 
forgotten at the 
children's balls 
often given at the Palace. She finally married 
Sir George Harrow in 1^2. and retained her 
beauty until past middle life. 

Not easily to be matched in all the Ii>ts 
ol beauty is the delicate perfection of Miss 
Man' Anderson, the Kentucky giil who took 
London by storm a quarter of a century ago 
and then suddenlv retired for ever from tin- 


by Google 

stage which had witnessed her triumphs. As 
Mme. de Navarro she has since lived in 
retirement in Worcestershire, but none who 
remembers that chaste and slender form and 
the chiselled features of an ideal Galatea can 
find her equal amongst the stage beauties of 

To the surpassing loveliness of Georgiana 

Countess o f 
Dudley all her 
bear testimony. 
James Russell 
Lowell, the cele- 
brated American 
author, caught a 
glimpse of her in 
the 'sixties and 
thought she was 
the most beauti- 
ful creature he 
had ever seen, 
(leorgianu Eliza- 
beth Moncreiffe, 
the daughter of 
a Perthshir e 
baronet, married 
in 1865 and was 
long considered 
the most beauti- 
ful woman in 
IjOndon society, 
She is the 
mother of the 
present Earl of 
Dudley. Gover- 
nor - General of 

As a great 
society beauty 
she may be 
said to have 
been succeeded 
by Lord Ross- 
1 y n ' 5 lovely 
daughter. Lady 
Millicent Fanny 
Sl Clair-Erskine. 
who, after 
five -and- twenty 
years, is still 
No portrait, not even 
consider Mr. Sargent's 
l wholly adequate idea 
01 the Duchess of Sutherland's beauty. 
She is tall and most divinely fair, and, as 
has been said, needs not her rank on her 
walks abroad to proclaim her nobility or 

attract admiration* * £ 

ungmal from 



From, a Pjiifitihtf by J. S. Samrnt, R.A. 

living and reigning. 
that which many 
masterpiece } gtve^ 


By MARGARET WESTRUP (Mw.W. Sydney Stacey). 

Illustrated by Alec BalL 

F I were superstitious/' she 
said, " I should be afraid," 

ci Afraid of what? We 
can't be sitting beneath a 
ladder, and we aren't thir^ 
teen." He broke off to 
add, tenderly, im We're one, 
aren't we — just one, Enid ? " 
u Yes," she said. 

She looked down into his face as he lay 
there beside her on the great flat rock, and 
then out to where more rocks towered 
above them, huge grass-topped rocks poised 
one over another, one behind another, in 
towering majesty — grey, with tender lichen 
coolly green, and burning red and gold gleam- 

ing in the sunshine ; and down at their foot, 
where the waves were breaking over the 
smaller rocks, sending up little fountains of 
glittering spray, covering and then leaving 
the sharp jagged points bare, hinting with 
beautiful and cruel suggestion at the terrible 
rocks hidden beneath. There was a fresh 
wind blowing from off the sea, and the waves 
hurried in restlessly and broke in showers 
of booming beauty at the foot of those great 

<f I say, isn't it ripping ? I don't see what 
there's to be afraid of on a day like this," 

She turned, smiling. 

(t That's just it — it J s rippingness/ 1 she 

*' What ? Oh, don't get clever, darling, 



Original from 




and talk over my head. You promised you'd 
always explain, you know." 

" You're a baby," she laughed. " There, 

it was only that You see, Dick, I've not 

had a very happy life." 

" I'm going to make up for that." 

She nodded. 

14 Yes. Well, that was it. I was looking 
out at the beautiful green sea, and — and 
thinking of " 

" Last Tuesday ? " 

" Yes, our wedding day, and — it is all so 
beautiful and happy and wonderful, that I — 
I almost felt afraid — just for a minute — 
afraid that it is too — too wonderful." 

He drew her closer. 

" Poor little girl ! " 

" Doesn't that chap look a midge up 
there ? " 

She followed his gaze over to the summit 
of the highest rock, where a man was standing 
looking out to sea. 

" It's that man I saw pass the hotel this 
morning," she said. " Do you remember ? 
I said he had a face like a Dutch doll." 

He nodded. 

" I didn't see him, but how on earth you 
can see who it is at this distance I can't 

She laughed, proud of her splendid eye- 
sight, but acknowledged frankly : — 

" It's his legs. They're such curious legs. 
They look as if they are put on back to front 
somehow. Look at their outline against 
the sky." 

He peered up drowsily at a pair of stock- 
inged legs that to his eyes might just as well 
have been anything else, and grunted. 

" I can't see any outline, you little humbug. 
Might as well be sausages or tadpoles." 

" It's because you're half asleep." 

He smiled up at her. 

" It's so warm and comfy and happy. But 
I'm not asleep — I'm thinking." 

" What of ? " she asked, demurely. 

" Oh, Aunt Louisa, of course. Give me 
your hand. Rubbish ! There's no one within 
a mile. Oh, that chap can't see. He isn't 
likely to have your vivid imagination, and 
anyway, you're my wife. Enid, what did you 
promise last Wednesday ? You surprise and 
grieve me." 

Dreamily, her hand in his, she sat and 
watched it all, the sea and the sky and the 
rocks, and because deep down in her heart 
that tremulous fear lurked, her thoughts 
turned to tragedy, and she said : — 

" Dick, suppose that man up there — he's 

by Google 

climbing about now — suppose he fell over, 
would you have to try to save him ? " 

"Of course I should try, but I couldn't 
do it." 

She looked down at the little sharp points 
with the sea running off them, and shuddered. 

" You couldn't possibly swim round," 
she said. " You'd be " 

" Bashed to bits," he finished, cheerfully. 
" I should. But he isn't going to fall over, so 
what's the use of picturing horrors ? " 

" I can't swim," she said. " I — almost 
— wish you couldn't." 

" Enid, you're getting morbid." 

She gave a little contrite laugh. 

" I know ; I'm sorry." 

" I should think you are." 

" But, Dick — no, I'm not morbid now — 
only interested. Do you think it would be 
right to do it ? You would not save him, 

and — you — would leave me " She broke 

off, unable to finish her sentence. " You 
would do no good to anyone. It — would be 

Dick pushed back his hat, and looked up at 
her with his blue eyes suddenly grown serious. 

" You'd just do it— that's all," he said, 

Suddenly she turned on him passionately. 

" Why ? Oh, how can you pretend that 
you love me as I love you ? Love me — 
and you'd do a thing like that ! You'd 
turn my life into a hideous tragedy — kill me 
— and for what ? To satisfy a conventional 
instinct. You'd kill yourself — a ghastly 
death — before my eyes, because you're not 
brave enough — don't love me enough — to 
put yourself aside — because you shrink from 
living with what a few conventional madmen 
might call a coward's conscience ! That man 
probably isn't worth saving ; but if he is — 
if he has a wife and children to mourn for 
him — it would make no difference. You 
could not save him — you know you could 
not swim amongst those cruel rocks. And 
you'd leave me for that ! " 

Her voice broke and died away. Dick was 
sitting up now, a curious, almost frightened, 
dismay in his boyish face. He put his arm * 
round her. 

" Dear, I — I'm awfully sorry," he said, 
tentatively. " I don't quite know what's 
up. There, my darling, you feel better now, 
don't you ? " 

She smiled tearfully. 

" Poor old Dick," she said, tremulously. 
" I don't know what is the matter with me 
this morning. I ought to be smacked." 

" Yes, you ought," he agreed, his face 

Original from 



brightening, " We'll see 
about it later on. You're 
all right now , aren't you ? ,J 

" Yes, but "—she slipped 
her hand into his eoaxingly 
— " would you, Dick ? " 

"Would I what?" 

"Oh, don't look so stern. 
I'm not going to begin again, 
only — I just wanted to know 
— would you go in and try to 
save him ? " 

" Yes/' he said., curtly* 

She sighed. 

He added , endeavouring 
to explain what was to him 
not explainable : — 

u You see j dearest, you'd 
just do it— you couldn't help 
it. What else could you do ? 
There's no other way — here 
— and — well, you wouldn't 
like me to be a sort of half- 
inch cowardly beast , would 
you ? " 

She broke into a delicious 
little laugh. "Oh, you dear 
love — no* I'd like you to be 
just exactly what you are — 
the bravest and best " 

** There, you see. Ohj you 
illogical child." 

(( I know. I think it's all 
wrong though, all the same/' 

He lay back on the rock 
with a contented little laugh. 

" Nothing seems wrong to 
mc to-day* The world's the 
best old place." 

She said softly :-* 
CiotTs in His Heaven— 
All's right with the world ! 

He nodded. 

11 Who's that ? Shake- 
speare ? " 

" No — Browning. 5 J 

u Oh ! Never knew Brown- 
ing wrote anything so simple 
and easy to understand." 

She laughed at him 

Silence fell between them 
again then. He stretched out 
his hand for hers, took it, 
muttered, " Dear little hand/' 
and closed his eyes. She leant 
back against the rock behind 
them , and gazed out , so happy 
that her thoughts were like 

by Google 

'suddenly he lost his balance and fell. 

Original from 



some beautiful, happy, broken dream. Her 
eyes, wandering lazily, turned after a while 
to the highest of those great rocks, and she saw 
that the little man like a Dutch doll was still 
there, sitting on the grass now, looking out to 
sea. She moved restlessly. In some curious, 
indefinable way he formed a discordant note 
in her beautiful world. 

" What— is it, sweetheart ? " 

She answered the sleepy voice lightly. 

" Nothing ; go to sleep. Perhaps I am 
composing a sonnet." 

" Clever— little— darling ! " 

She found herself unable to keep her eyes 
away from that tall rock, where the little man 
sat on the grassy slope of its summit, and she 
experienced a thrill of relief when at last he 
rose and, after stretching his arms above his 
head, sauntered off inland. She drew a deep 
sigh, checked midway, for the man turned and 
walked back to the spot where he had been 
sitting, and began to move to and fro, head 
down-bent, evidently searching for some- 
thing he missed. She watched impatiently. 
He approached the edge of the slope and, 
bending, peered down at the ledge a yard 
below where he had been clambering earlier 
in the morning. She watched. She saw him 
bend farther over, stretch his neck out — then 
suddenly he lost his balance and fell. She 
saw him fall, saw him clutch frantically at 
the narrow ledge, miss it, and disappear down 
behind the rocks. She saw him, and she felt 
no shock of surprise. She was conscious of 
only one great sick anxiety — that Dick should 
not wake. She sat rigid, holding her breath, 
faint with the terrible deadliness of her 
purpose, possessed only with that, and so 
possessed that she remembered to fight 
against the terrified longing to catch at his 
hand. She fought and conquered, so that 
her fingers lay limp within his. The man 
screamed as he fell, and she waited breathless 
lest it should have wakened Dick. After- 
wards that scream was to ring with pitiless 
reiteration in her ears, but now it meant only 
a possible waking of the man beside her. That 
was all. It was over in less than a minute, 
but she sat there, rigid, dazed, and clinging 
dully to her deadly purpose. She heard the 
cry of a gull, and thought confusedly that he 
was a long while dying. She was glad Dick 
would not be able to see him when he woke — 
away round all those rocks. But he must 
not wake. She sat there, rigid ; a dull pain 
was creeping all through her back and limbs ; 
the longing to move became so intense as to 
be almost unbearable. But she must not 
move. If she moved she might wake Dick, 

by Google 

and Dick must not be wakened. She could 
tell that he was asleep, because he lay so still. 
She could not see him because there was a 
curious mist that made everything dark, and 
there were little black specks floating in the 
air. . . . 

When she regained consciousness she sat 
up and looked around, striving to understand, 
to remember. The place at her side, where 
Dick had lain, was empty, and with the shock 
of surprise memory came surging back, came 
with great cruel leaps and bounds that left 
her spent and breathless. And then came the 
awful fear that somehow Dick had found out 
— had gone. Her eyes sought shrinkingly 
those jagged rocks, now almost hidden by 
the incoming tide, and her voice rang out 
despairingly, calling on him to come back. 

He came, climbing the rocks from behind 
her, and she flung herself into his arms, 
pitifully weeping, praying to him not to leave 
her again. 

White and dismayed, he soothed her, 
besought her not to cry. 

" You were asleep, dear one, or I would 
never have left you. What is the matter, 
Enid ? A bad dream, little one ? " 

He knew that she sometimes had terrifying 
dreams. She caught at it eagerly, desper- 
ately, realizing that her task of keeping him 
and his love was only begun, vaguely under- 
standing the awful work that lay before her. 

" Yes, yes — oh, such a terrible dream, 
Dick ! Don't leave me — promise you will 
not leave me again ! I want to go back to 
the hotel. Oh, I want to go back ! Take 
me back ! " 

He took her back. They were leaving that 
day, going farther inland. She hurried their 
departure with feverish unrest. Afterwards, 
looking back, the days that followed were 
vague, chaotic. Only two things stood out 
clear : one was the sound of a man's des- 
pairing scream always ringing in her ears, 
and the other was the horrible manoeuvring 
to keep newspapers from Dick. 

She never glanced at one herself. 


The people in Fordingham said it was terribly 
sad that young Mrs. Penrose was so delicate. 
Others said she was sickly, and yet others 
that there was something wrong somewhere, 
and that the marriage was turning out very 
badly. Most of them had known Dick from 
the day of his birth, all could witness to his 
high spirits, his gaiety before his marriage, 
and now all shook their heads over the altera- 
tion in him. It was obvious he was worried 

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and unhappy over his wife's delicacy, or over 
whatever it was that was wrong with her. 

Enid, moving amongst all these old friends 
of Dick's, realized again and again that she 
could never tell him what she had done that 
day on their honeymoon. At times the sick 
longing to unburden her soul, to pull away 
the curtain that had dropped between them, 
became so strong that she almost risked his 
grief and scorn and told him the truth. There 
were times when she felt that she could bear 
anything better than this shadow that had 
fallen between their souls, this burden of 
hypocrisy. But she never told him ; living 
in the midst of stories of his valour and the 
valour of his forefathers, she could not do it. 
Friends, old servants, old country-folk, would 
tell her stories of Master Dick's pluck ; to 
her proud yet shrinking mind there seemed 
no end to them. He would despise her. His 
women-folk had been as brave as the men of 
his family ; they had sent their men to the 
wars with smiling faces ; had borne their 
losses with a beautiful courage. Wandering 
amongst portraits of lovely women with 
clear, brave eyes up in the old gallery, Enid 
shrank appalled at the thought of confession. 
The gallery possessed a morbid sort of attrac- 
tion for her. She spent a good deal of her 
time there ; sometimes Dick would find her 
there and tell her stories of the men and 
women. He found her there one cold day 
in February ; he sought her with more of his 
old expression in his face than he usually wore, 
and she responded to it eagerly. " What is 
it, Dick ? " 

" That Socialist chap — you know, Barker — 
has come down here to try and force his rotten 
doctrines down my people's throats." He 
gave a little laugh. " I don't fancy he'll 
get a particularly warm reception." 

" No," she said. She waved her hand 
towards the portraits. " There are too many 
memories of them down here." They were 
silent a while. Suddenly she shivered. 

" It is cold ; let us go down to the library." 

" I should like to see that man — Barker," 
she said, a little later. 

" That's easy enough," he laughed. " He'll 
make enough row and show himself enough. 
He won't stay in modest retreat." 

She saw him that same afternoon. She 
was alone, walking through the woods ; the 
air was crisp and exhilarating, the woods 
wonderfully beautiful. Something of their 
quiet beauty, their peace and gentleness, sank 
into her spirit and soothed it. Then she 
heard a step approaching over the dead beech 
leaves, and, turning her head, surprised, she 

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saw a man drawing near. He was still a long 
way off — a short, thick-set figure, his head 
in shadow, his clumsy, stockinged legs out- 
lined brightly against the glowing bracken. 
Enid waited, her heart suffocating her with 
its rapid beating, and when he drew near her 
eyes leapt upward and she saw the face that 
haunted her night and day — the face that 
once she had laughingly declared was like a 
Dutch doll. She had known she would see 
that face ; known it directly she caught 
sight of the legs with the calves that looked 
as if they were put on back to front. Her 
lips parted to speak, but no words came. She 
stood there, white, breathless, and, in his eyes, 
imperious. He twitched his shoulders un- 
easily, blinked his little dark eyes, and re- 
marked, insolently : — 

" I suppose you mean I've got no right to 
be here ? I refuse to acknowledge that. I've 
got just as much right as you, just as much 
right as the man who thinks he owns this 
place, and the souls and bodies of the country 
people round here " 

She did not heed him. Her breath was 
coming back now. She gave a little cry : — 

" You ! It's you ! Oh, thank Heaven ! " 

Amazement spread over his broad, flat 
face ; he stared at her uncomprehendingly. 

"You are alive!" she breathed. "You 
were not drowned ! " 

Recognition dawned in his eyes. 

" Oh, I remember you now ! " he said. 

He paused abruptly, peering at her in- 

She was trembling with the shock and 
relief of his sudden appearance. 

Suddenly a nasty sneer lifted his thick lip. 

" No, I wasn't drowned," he said, in a 
bullying voice. " But it was. no thanks to 
you, or your brave husband either ! " 

" Oh, hush, hush ! He was asleep. It 
was I ! I ! " 

" You were sitting on the rocks. I remem- 
ber you now. I'd seen you before, swaggering 
around as if you owned the world ! No, I 
wasn't drowned, but I was knocked about 
pretty badly. Why didn't you wake your 
husband — eh ? " 

She shrank away. All her usual pride had 
deserted her. She glanced fearfully around, 
and he watched her, his eyes growing cunning. 

" I — didn't want him — to be drowned," she 
said, in a low, shamed voice. 

" Oh, that was it, was it ? You didn't care 
about me ! Well, that'll be a pretty story to 
tell some of these fools down here. That'll 
choke some of their infernal hero-worship 
out of 'em. A nice little story it'll make, 
Original from 





How the 

told in suitable language ! 

wife " 

" Re quiet r " 

resumed his tone and words were different. 
'* I'll do it all the same," he said, with 
sulky obstinacy, " You can't put me off 

For a moment, and in spite of himself, by looking at mc as if Fm the dirt beneath 

her voice stayed his tongue. Even when he your feet ! I suppose that's why you would 

* .-T. « . , | fc OnginarlTronn 




have let me drown, eh ? I wasn't worth 
risking anything for " 

" Oh, hush ! Someone will hear." 

There was a pause. His sharp little eyes 
never left her shrinking face. When he next 
spoke he came a step nearer, and his voice 
was lower. 

"I'll give it up if you make it worth my 
while," he said. 

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. 

"I want money. Do you understand? 
Give me fifty pounds and I'll hold my tongue." 

She went home light-footed, eager-eyed. 
She was not a murderer — the man was alive ! 
Surely now she could throw it from her ! She 
could not tell Dick, but need it be a horrible 
shadow between them any longer ? The 
man had gone ; she had stipulated for that. 
She was to send the money to an address in 
London. She lifted her head and drew in 
great, glad breaths of the clean, sharp air. 
That man — the little man with the face like 
a Dutch doll — was alive ! Alive, and well, 
and Repulsive ! If she had wakened Dick he 
coulp not be more alive, and Dick would 
be— r^ Her footsteps quickened into a run. 
She ran to him. When she found him her 
bright eyes questioned his face remorsefully. 
How she had worried and grieved him ! She 
twined her arms about him, pressed her cold 
cheek to his, till the worried lines in his face 
seemed to smooth out, and he kissed her again 
and again passionately. 

It was a fortnight later that she received a 
letter from Barker asking for a further ten 
pounds. And then she began to realize into 
what she had let herself be led. Shivering at 
the thought of the deceit that would be neces- 
sary, the methods she would have to practise 
to obtain the money this man would demand, 
she wrote to him in reply that she could send 
him no more money, and that she had decided 
to tell her husband everything. The letter 
she received from him in answer to that gave 
her a terrible shock, and she realized with 
shrinking horror that she had a scoundrel to 
deal with. For he said that unless he received 
the ten pounds within two days he would 
publish the story, down to the very traffic 
she had had with him ; and, further, that he 
would so tell it that her husband should 
figure as a coward sheltering behind his wife's 
skirts. He concluded with the remark that 
he thought the story would do good to his side, 
so far as Fordingham was concerned, and harm 
to theirs, so that he was quite prepared to 
forfeit the money for that. She sent him the 
ten pounds. And a month later a further 

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twenty. She knew that she was only getting 
deeper and deeper into the mire this man had 
brought into her life, and the knowledge made 
her physically ill. There very soon came a 
time when, at bay, she refused to send him 
what he asked. She had not got it, and she 
would not tell the lie to Dick that would have 
easily procured it. 

Barker came down to Fordingham and way- 
laid her ; he lurked about in the woods till 
he met her. And suddenly she let it all go — 
ill, utterly unnerved, she stood, making no 
sign, while he insolently demanded the money. 
She knew that Dick was just behind her, that 
he had paused to speak to a keeper, and would 
be with her at any moment. She stood quite 
still, dully waiting, making no movement 
when she heard Dick's footsteps drawing 
near. She saw the man with the face like a 
Dutch doll turn and run, saw Dick start in 
pursuit and catch him by the collar of his 
, coat, saw him shake him as if he were a rat, 
then drag him back to her. 

" I heard his voice. What was he saying 
to you, Enid ? " 

She spoke in a curious, listless way, con- 
scious chiefly of a wish that she could find 
somewhere dry to sit down. 

" He is the man with the face like a Dutch 
doll, who was climbing on the top of the 
high rock, and when you were asleep he fell 
into the sea, and I didn't wake you because I 
didn't want you to be drowned " 

So she went on, listlessly, to the end. Then 
there was a pause. Glancing up, she looked 
into Dick's white face, and her listlessness was 
pierced into sharp life. 

" Don't— don't look like that ! " she cried. 

41 Hush, Enid ! " He turned to the man 
he still held. 

" Give up any letter you have ! " 

The man hesitated, muttering something 
insolent about making the story public. 

Dick laughed. 

" You know it's no use trying that game on 
me. I'd have you up for blackmail, you cur ! 
You'd cut a nice figure, wouldn't you ? Enid, 
how many letters have you written to him ? " 

" Two." 

" Give them up, you blackguard ! " 

" I haven't got them with me." 

" We'll soon see." 

Dick raised his stick, then glanced over his 
shoulder at Enid. 

" You go home," he said, gently. 

" I— oh, Dick, don't " 

" Please go, Enid." 

She went. 

She waited up in the little white room that 
Original from 


32 c 

had been prepared so tenderly for her, and 
where she had spent so many bad hours. She 
was chiefly conscious of just a great longing 
for Dick, and for his forgiveness. 

When he came at last she did not go to him, 
she stood hesitating. 

" Dick/' she whispered. " Oh, try not to 
— to despise me — too— much " 

He took ht:r into his arms with a cry. 

tb My love, my love, I saw him fall, too ! 

It was not for a long while that she 
questioned him. She just lay in his arms 
with a great sense of wonderful peace. But 
at last her mind began to work, and she was 

" But you were asleep/' she murmured, 

u No } I was not quite asleep. I thought 
you were/' He passed his hand over his 
eyes. " I can't realize it quite yet/ 5 he said. 
" Barker, that man ! And you — saw him 
fall. All these months — you, too — oh, my 
poor little girl ! " 

Presently she whispered. " Tell me, Dick*" 
Then, as he hesitated, she said, with an infinite 
tenderness, u Does it hurt too much ? " 

" Heavens, child, how I have longed to tell 
you ! But it seemed to me that it would be 
cowardly — that the only reparation I could 
make was never to let you know what you — 
what I had done lh 

1 What I had made 
you do/ 'she corrected, 

"Sometimes I 
nearly told you ; but 
you thought so much 
of courage — you were 
always in the picture 
gallery— I used to tell 
you stories of their 
pluck and watch 
your face. I 
thought it 
would break 
vour heart to 
know " 

M Go on t " 
she said. 

' c T h a t 
morning — you 
were leaning 
back against 
the rock, and 
I thought you 

had fallen asleep — I was drowsy— I didn't see 

him fall — I heard him calling out " 

She shivered , and he drew her closer. 
44 Enid, I don't know what came over me. 
I can't explain, I just lay there, your words 
about leaving you alone chasing through my 
brain. It seemed in those few seconds that 
it would be foul treachery to leave you while 
you slept— your hand in mine. Dear, you 
know how they say a drowning man sees all 
his past life spread out before him ? In those 
seconds I saw— not mine^ but yours — every 
incident and sorrow you have told me of your 
life I saw — I saw your unhappiness, and — it 
sounds pretty stupid, but Fd got some notion 
in my head that I was sort of making up- 
showing at last how much I loved you— 
making some big sacrifice. I suppose really 
1 funked/* he added, heavily. 

She looked up into his face, her eyes shining 
through tears* 

" You ! " she said. 

That was all, but his face lightened wonder- 

" After — when it was too late — I went up 
over the cliff to see if I could find out anything, 
but there was no sign or sound. You couldn't 

get anywhere near " 

'.' How was he saved ? " 

" He only fell a little way — on to some ledge 

— and climbed up again 

when he'd got his wind. 

I can't think how I 

missed him/' 

It was a little 
later, after she 
had told him 
all her sorrow, 
that he said, 
very gently: — 
""Dear /if I 
should ever be 
given another 
chance, vou — 
you — _» 

She lifted her 
head bravelv. 

"I would 
not grudge you 
again," she 
said. "You 
have done 
enough. Next 
time it should 
be I." 


Vol, |1L— 41 

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Original from 

****:• ***** * 



HANKS to The Strand, the 
;irt of " sq niggling " is making 
great progress amongst His 
Majesty's lieges , if one may 
judge by the liberal abundance 
II of specimens which continue 
to pour in upon us, via His 
Majesty's mails from all parts of the kingdom. 
As regards playing-card squiggles> one 
might venture to think they are beginning 
to rival card -playing, even of bridge itself, 
as a popular pastime. 

It is interesting to know that there is in 
existence at least one entire pack of " squig- 
gled n playing-cards — each one, from the 
king of hearts , " the Emperor of the pack," 
to the humble deuce of clubs/lending itself 
to the production of something which never 

entered the mind either of the original 
designer of playing-cards or of his successors 
through several centuries. 

Six cards from one of these packs are 
reproduced at the head of this article. For 
the use of these we are indebted to Mr, W. 
Sapte, of Ashford, Middlesex. 

For examples of sheer ingenuity the 
squiggles herewith presented are hard to 
beat. To begin with, there is the election 
orator, who has hardly begun to address his 
audience before three ballot-boxes are hurled 
at him, one catching him in the jaw, a second 
hurling away his hat ; his stool is upset, while 
one of the unrepentant audience waves a 
miniature flag, and in this manner is the five 
of diamonds correctly utilized. 

The ace of spades forms the ground- 

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Original from 



work of several magnificent spiders, one of 
the best of which is shown. 

That the ace of clubs should have suggested 
to many the three bulls of the pawnbroker 
is most natural, but there are not many who 
would have treated the idea so ingenious y, 
and one may add so humorously, as this. 
The marginal consigns does duty as the 
trefoil apex of a Gothic spire. And observe 
that the prospective patron of the establish- 
ment is no squalid sirugforliftur^ for all 
that he is familiar with 
the sign of the swinging 
club. A single club is 
suspended above him, but 
he carries a set of clubs 
under his arm* and he pro- 
bably belongs to a club, 
unless he^ too, is sus- 

That the interval of 
space between two men 
of fashion should take the 
shape of an ace of dia- 
monds would not readily 
occur to everyone, and 
one suspects that the 
stay - maker must have 
something to do with 
such a result. Yet this 
is not j one reflects, the 
first time that a diamond 
has separated two friends. 

It is not a little curious 
that so few card-squigglers 

Digitized by \j< 

should have thought of kite-flying in connec- 
tion with diamonds. A really capital design 
is that £i%-cn below of the two of diamond* 
figuring as red kites, one launched and the 
other on the point of being so. 

As for the ace of the same suit, a most 
complicated picture shows it as part of the 
central object, the bottom of a chair poised 
on a juggler's n °se. One feels that this is 
a considerable waste of effort on a single pip, 
although, as we hinted before, it is not uncom- 
mon for a man to stake 
a good deal on a diamond. 
The next squiggle is 
reminiscent of the panto- 
mime season* We have 
already seen the club 
suggesting the familiar — 
alas ! too - familiar — tri- 
sphere of the impecunious \ 
7 here that idea is com- 

bined with the eccentric 
head - dress of a clown. 
And if you turn this card 
upside down you will per- 
ceive that pantaloon's 
nose has something to do 
with the numeral of the 
consigne in the corner. 

A very graceful drawing 
is that of two peacocks 
with upraised plumage, 
the background between 
their curving necks, com- 
. .bined with the whole 
Original from 




design j forming the ace of spades. Probably, 
were the birds to be pausing before the 
mouth of a dark cavern, the background 
would be sufficiently black to make a similar 
impression on a beholder. Another striking 
conception is that of a pair of serpents 
engaged in mortal combat, their heads being 
the two of spades. 

The deuce of diamonds would appear to 
be a favourite with those fashioners of objects 
which, to adopt the language of the poet. 

Contrive a double debt to pay, 

A picture droll to see and then a card to play, 




For in another example we are presented to 
a most voracious fish (" finny monster of the 
deep/ 1 as the youthful reporter would say) 
about to swallow a worm suspended from a 
float, the latter and the fish's gaping mouth 
forming the two of diamonds. The angler 
overhead, although of microscopic propor- 
tions, appears in his punt happy and alert. 
The three of spades is the basis of a composi- 
tion in which a characteristic scene on our 
English roads is pleasantly delineated, A 
motorist, surmounted by that eccentric 


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Original from 




variety of headgear without which much of 
the delights of motoring must be foregone , 
is bearing down upon the recumbent figure 
of his victim, who would appear to have 
previously received the attentions of another 
motor, for he is nailed to the earth and covered 
with gore. Not the least amusing detail of 
the sketch is the utilization erf the helmet 
to indicate the suit, which is a touch of 
observation , too, in the artist, for in real life 
the hat Ls often an indication of the suit. 
The same three of spades 
is taken by another 
draughtsman for his 
comic delineation of a 
sable belle, who is re- 
velling in the joys of 
rinking. Her face is the 
top spot, the middle 
spot is the lady's muff, 
while the third spot is 
comfortably occupied 
by her right foot, 
which is of generous 
proportions, but doubt- 
less, in reality, no 
larger than her left, 
partly concealed by her 
skirt's draperies. 

It is wonderful to 
reflect upon the many 
combinations, even of 
the smaller denr nina- 
tions of a pack of cards, 
which ought to occur to 


everyone, but which are somehow reserved 
for a few clever ones. Looking at the figure 
of a boy scout on the next page signalling 
with flags, one might suppose hundreds would 
think ot this ; but it seems to have escaped 
all but two or three. Although of great 
simplicity, it is yet one of the very best. 

We find ourselves at the end of our space 

and yet with hundreds of excellent squiggles 

which we should like to mention* We must 

be content, however, to reproduce just a very 

few of them and on a 

much reduced scale. 

A most ingenious use 
of a three-spot shows a 
performing elephant 
balancing his huge bulk 
on the middle one of 
three box ■ s to pis. The 
three of spades is made 
to take on the character 
of two Chinese duellists 
and the lady who is the 
object of their joint affec- 
tions, while the two of 
hearts is next used to 
show another Chinaman 
running off with a bag he 
has just snatched from 
an indignant old lady. 
In No. 1 6 the three of 
spades is used in a very 
graceful design, which 
might well he taken for 
a poster o{ " The Blue 

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Original from 



A^-'H Wr 











Bird." The 
spider as a spade 
we have already 
seen j but in the 
next example he 
figures as a heart , 
while lour oilier 
hearts represent 
four flies, his victims. 
The ace of clubs ap- 
pears in another as 
the trifoliate window 
of a church, and in the 
next the two of clubs 
is introduced most 
cleverly into the sketch 

of an owl. A solitary darnseL posing as the 
ace of clubs, follows, and the next is a familiar 
type of squiggle which utilizes the three of a 
suit for hat, trunk, and object to be stood 
upon- Another squiggler saw the por trait of 
Mr. Hall Came in the ace of hearts, while surely 

strained within 
such proportions 
as is shown in 
the next treat- 
ment of the ace 
of spades. The 
three of that suit is used 
in another squiggle to 
portray three fishes 
enacting a little human 
as well as piscatorial 
drama, " Two's com- 
pany, three's none " ; 
while in the last, an 
old woman blows the bellows before a fire, 
the implement being the ace of hearts. 

On the whole, the practice of seeing squiggles 
in playing-cards is a pastime with a good 
deal to recommend it as a test of skill com- 
bined with imagination- 

The following list gives (tie names and address or the senders of the Squtggles published in ihe article, the number* 
eorreripondinK to those under each tcurod net ion. No. i, Mr, Harry j. Mrlwici, ii. Hi^hlmrgh Road, Lfcowatihil], Glasgow ; 
No*, i and si, Mr* Eric Cant t 5, Mill Lane, Cambridge; No. 3, Mr. G. R. WbiteheaoT, Trimdon, Trimdon Grange, 
S.O., Durham; N<w. ^ 14, and r$, Mr* Stephen H. Critten, 15, Reginald Road, ForeM Gate, K. ; No, % Mr, L R, 
Wallace, Wes 1 Wood burn, NewcAsik-on-Tyne ; No* 6, Mr, W. H< Soar t t;^ Old Heath Road, Colchester; No*, fl and 19, 
Mr. K. A. Williatni, %y Haj^mcf^tjith Road, W- ; Nos. 7, ao, and 33, Mi\ Thomas Hohson, 35, Bursar Street, Cleethorpe* ; 
No, o. Miss H + H. Killby, 12, Newnham Terrare, I'embridgc ; Nos, io and Sf6, Mr + Kustace Luton, it, Argyle Terrace, 
Twrrton, Hath; No. 11, Mr, Arthur Booth, 34, Bel^rave Square, Rathmioes, Dublin; No. it M„ )+ Talma", og r Queens- 
borough Gardens, Hyndlind, Glasgow ; Nus, il 16, and 17, Mr. II, F, J J ect T jQ t Oulram Street , Houghton ■ie-Suring T 
Co. Dtitliam; No, 18, Mill Daisy Hunt, 14S, Claremotit Road, Forest Hate; No. 2?, Mr. G. W, Cooper, Quanington, 
Sieafurd, Lines; No, *<, Mr. R. J. Robert*, Dharur, Llandudno; No. 25, Mr. W. ). Vinson, 2* T C*nn Hall Road* Leytonsionev 

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Original from 

Absent Treatment. 


Illustrated ty Josepk Simpson, R.B,A. 

WANT to tell you all about 
d ear old B o bbi e Carde w . It's 
a most interesting story. I 
can't put in any literary style 
and all that; but I don't 
have to , don't you know, 
because it goes on its Moral 
Lesson, If you Ye a man you mustn't miss it, 
because it'll be a warning to you ; and if 
you're a woman you won't want to, because 
it's all about how a girl made a man feel 
pretty well fed up with things. 

If you're a recent acquaintance of Bobbie's, 
you'll probably be surprised to hear that 
there was a time when he was more remark- 
able for the weakness of his memory than 
anything else. Dozens of fellows, who have 
only met Bobbie since the change took place, 
have been surprised when 1 told them that, 
Yet it's true. Believe me. 

In the days when I first knew him Bobbie 
Cardew was about the most pronounced 
young rotter inside the four-mile radius. 
People have called me a silly ass, but I was 
never in the same class with Bobbie. When 
it came to being a silly ass, he was a plus four 
man, while my handicap was about six* 
Why, if I wanted him to dine with me, 1 used 
to post him a letter at the beginning of the 
week, and then the day before send him a 
telegram and a 'phone-call on the day itself, 
and — half an hour before the time we'd 
fixed — a messenger in a taxi, whose business 
it was to see that he got in and that the 
chauffeur had the address all correct. By 
doing that I generally managed to get him, 
unless he had left town before m